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EDITION  DE  LUXE 


THE      WORKS     OF 


HENRY 
FIELDING 


VOLUME  SIX 


MISCELLANIES 


Philadelpnia 

JOHN  D.  MORRIS 
AND  COMPANY 


DUMBARTON  EDITION   DE  LUXE 

Limited    to    One    Thousand    numbered    sets    of 
which  this  is 

No 


Copyright,  1902,  by 
The  University  Press 


7 


1>J. 

0 

-% 

CONTENTS 


PAGE 

Introduction ^^ 


A   JOURNEY   FROM   THIS   WORLD 
TO   THE    NEXT,  ETC.,  ETC. 

Introduction ^ 

BOOK    I 

CHAPTER    ONE 

The  author  dies,  meets  with  Mercury,  and  is  by 
him  conducted  to  the  stage  which  sets  out  for 
the  other  world 7 

CHAPTER    TWO 

In  which  the  author  first  refutes  some  idle  opinions 
concerning  spirits,  and  then  the  passengers 
relate  their  several  deaths 11 

CHAPTER    THREE 

The  adventures  we  met  with  in  the  City  of 
Diseases *' 


1462,706 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER    FOUR 

PAGE 

Discourses  on   the  road,  and  a  description  of  the 

palace  of  Death 26 

CHAPTER    FIVE 

The  travellers  j)roceed  on  their  journey,  and  meet 
several  s{)irits  who  are  coming  into  the  flesh      .     31 

CHAPTER    SIX 

An  account  of  the  wheel  of  fortune,  with  a  method 

of  preparing  a  spirit  for  this  world  .     .     .     .     .     37 

CHAPTER    SEVEN 

The  proceedings  of  Judge  Minos  at  the  gate  of 

Elysium 41 

CHAPTER    EIGHT 

The  adventures  which  the  author  met  on  his  first 

entrance  into  Elysium 48 

CHAPTER    NINE 
More  adventures  in  Elysium 53 

CHAPTER   TEN 

The  author  is  surprised  at  meeting  Julian  the  apos- 
tate in  Elysium  ;  but  is  satisfied  by  him  by  what 
means  he  procured  his  entrance  there.  Julian 
relates  his  adventures  in  the  character  of  a  slave     57 

[vi] 


COxNTENTS 

CHAPTER    ELEVEN 

PAGE 

In  which  Julian  relates  his  adventures  in  the  char- 
acter of  an  avaricious  Jew  .......     67 

CHAPTER    TWELVE 

What  happened  to  Julian  in   the  characters  of  a 

general,  an  heir,  a  carpenter,  and  a  beau       .      .      72 

CHAPTER    THIRTEEN 

Julia. 1  passes  into  a  fop ,     ...     78 

CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 
Adventures  in  the  person  of  a  monk 79 

CHAPTER    FIFTEEN 

Julian  passes  into  the  character  of  a  fidler      ...      83 

CHAPTER    SIXTEEN 
The  history  of  the  wise  man 89 

CHAPTER    SEVENTEEN 

Julian  enters  into  the  ])erson  of  a  king      ....     98 

CHAPTER   EIGHTEEN 

Julian  passes  into  a  fool 107 

[vii] 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER    NINETEEN 

PAGE 

Julian  appears  in  the  character  of  a  beggar      .     .     11^ 

CHAPTER    TWENTY 
J  uhan  performs  the  part  of  a  statesman        .     .     .      120 

CHAPTER   TWENTY-ONE 

Julian's  adventures  in  the  post  of  a  soldier  .     .     .      129 

CHAPTER   TWENTY-TWO 

What  happened  to  Julian  in  the  person  of  a  tailor     137 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-THREE 
The  life  of  alderman  Julian 142 

CHAPTER    TWENTY-FOUR 

Julian  recounts  what  happened  to  him  while  he 

was  a  poet 150 

CHAPTER   TWENTY-FIVE 

Julian    performs    the    parts   of    a   knight   and   a 

dancing-master 155 

BOOK  XIX 

CHAPTER   SEVEN 

^^Tierein  Anna  Boleyn  relates  the  history  of  her 

life 158 

[viii] 


CONTENTS 

THE   JOURNAL   OF   A   VOYAGE   TO 
LISBON 

PAGE 

Dedication  to  the  Public 183 

Preface 185 

Introduction 19b 

THE   VOYAGE 211 


[ix] 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  Miscellaneous  Writings  of  Fielding 
included  in  the  following  volumes  are 
not,  it  is  perhaps  needless  to  say,  to  be 
confused  with  the  Miscellanies  by  the 
same  author.  The  latter  was  the  work  brouerht  out 
in  London  by  Andrew  Millar,  Fielding's  favourite 
publisher,  in  1743,  probably  in  April,  with  the  title. 
Miscellanies,  by  Henry  Fielding,  Esq.  ;  In  Three  Vol- 
umes. The  first  of  these  begins  with  the  list  of 
subscribers,  headed  by  "  His  Royal  Highness  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  Fifteen  Setts.''  It  may  interest 
some  people  to-day  to  know  that  Chesterfield  took 
five  sets  ;  Fielding's  kinsman,  the  Earl  of  Denbigh, 
three  ;  the  Duke  of  Marlborough,  five;  "  Her  Grace 
the  Dutchess  of  Richmond,"  six  ;  and  "  Charles  Fleet- 
wood, Esq.,"  so  many  as  twenty.  Other  subscribers, 
who  took  one  set  each,  were  Fielding's  steadfast 
friend,  Lyttelton,  many  of  his  friends  of  the  law, 
and  among  his  theatrical  friends,  jNIrs.  Clive,  Mrs. 
Woffington,  and  Garrick.  After  this  list  in  the 
first  volume  of  the  Miscellanies,  came  the  author's 
preface,  which  is  just  a  little  too  personal,  accord- 
ing to  our  way  of  thinking,  in  regard  to  domestic 
afflictions.  We  nuist  i-emcmber,  though,  that  it 
was  written  in  an  age  of  personalities,  and  at  this 
distance  of  time  we  have  every  reason  to  be  grateful 

[  xiii  J 


INTRODUCTION 

for  the  biographical  matter  it  contains.  Then  fol- 
lowed a  quantity  of  verse  (probably  all  that  Field- 
ing had  written  at  the  time),  some  in  fairly  long 
"  poems,""  some  in  pieces  of  only  a  few  lines.  Witli 
one  or  two  exceptions,  such  as  A  Sailor's  Song, 
a  conventional  glorification  of  a  scaman\s  life,  with 
something  of  a  swing  and  plenty  of  commonplace 
British  patriotism,  this  verse  is  all  in  octosyllabic  or 
heroic  couplets,  —  that  is,  it  is  regulation  eighteentli- 
century  verse  with  the  artificial  diction  of  the  eig'i- 
teenth  century  and  its  satirical,  unpoetical  tone.  It 
is  the  sort  of  thing  that  any  literary  dilettante  might 
have  turned  off,  but  not  the  sort  of  thing  that 
stamps  its  author  as  a  man  of  genius.  Somewhat 
better  is  the  prose  with  which  the  first  volume  of  the 
Miscellanies  was  concluded,  —  namely,  three  rather 
long  essays  (of  which  that  On  Conversation  was  one), 
a  burlesque  scientific  paper,  a  translation  of  the  First 
Olynthiac  of  Demosthenes,  and  two  or  three  less  im- 
portant pieces.  The  greater  part  of  the  second 
volume  of  the  Miscellanies  was  taken  up  with  J 
Jcmrney  from  This  Workl  to  the  Next.  This  was 
followed  by  two  plays :  Eiwydice,  A  Farce :  As  it 
was  d — 7nmd  at  the  Theatre-Royal  in  Drury-Lane, 
and  The  Wedding  Day.  A  Comedy,  As  it  is  acted  at 
the  Theatre-Royal  in  Drury-Lane,  By  His  Majesty'^s 
Servants.  The  third  volume  of  the  Miscellanies  was 
entirely  taken  up  by  Jonathan  Wild.  It  will  be 
seen,  then,  that  only  two  of  the  Miscellanies  find  a 
place  in  these  volumes  of  Miscellaneous  Writings: 
A  Journey  from  this  World  to  the  Next  and  An 
Essay  on   Conversation. 

[xiv] 


INTRODUCTION 

In  speaking  of  the  miscellaneous  writings  of  Field- 
ing, one  must  inevitably  say  of  them  in  general  ^vhat 
critics  have  said  before :  except  for  the  Voyaga  to 
Lisbon,  they  are  interesting  not  so  much  for  their 
own  sake  as  for  showing  the  great  novelist's  achieve- 
ment in  fields  vvliich  he  has  not  made  entirelv  his 
own.  In  selecting  from  these  writings  such  as  are 
most  likely  to  interest  the  public,  one  cannot  do 
better  than  to  follow  again  in  a  path  already  opened, 
and  fix  upon  those  which  Professor  Saintsbury  has 
chosen  for  a  late  English  edition  of  Fielding.  As 
he  says,  the  first  to  be  chosen  for  any  collection 
of  Fieldii  g's  miscellaneous  writings  is  The  Jour- 
nal of  a  Voyage  to  Lisbon;  for  after  Jonathan  Wild 
and  our  author's  three  gi-eat  novels,  no  work  of  his 
demands  so  n)uch  consideration.  But  as  the  Journal 
is  the  choice  bit  of  the  present  selection,  unwise 
should  I  be  to  speak  of  it  here  rather  than  save  it 
for  my  climax. 

Let  us  pass,  accordingly,  to  the  Jowneyfrom  this 
World  to  the  Neoct,  which  for  its  size,  and  on  the 
whole  for  its  merit,  is  second  in  importance  in  this 
collection  only  to  the  Voyage  to  Lisbon.  The  fact 
that  it  came  out  in  the  Miscellanies  makes  certain 
that  it  was  composed  before  the  year  174r3  ;  more 
than  this  in  regard  to  its  date  is  not  definitely 
known.  The  piece  which  Fielding  never  finished,  is 
a  curious  satirical  allegory,  of  a  kind  not  uncom- 
mon in  its  day.  The  earlier  chapters  are  the  best ; 
there  is  some  poetic  imagination  as  veil  as  a  great 
deal  of  Fielding's  knowledge  of  human  nature  in  the 
description  of  the  City  of  Diseases,  the   Palace   of 

[xv] 


INTRODUCTION 

Death,  the  "proceedings  of  Judge  Minos,"  and  the 
first  experiences  in  Elysium.  The  story  of  Julian 
the  Apostate,  however,  becomes  tedious;  his  trans- 
nn'grations  are  too  many.  If  interest  returns  in  the 
story  of  Anne  Boleyn,  it  is  not  so  much  on  account  of 
the  brilliancy  of  her  narrative  as  of  the  chance  it  ofl'ers 
us  to  find  out  Fielding's  estimate  of  her  character. 

It  is  but  natural  that  in  any  collection  of  Field- 
ing's miscellaneous  writings  some  of  his  plays  should 
be  represented.  From  the  time  when  he  came  to 
London,  a  vigorous,  warm-hearted  young  man  not 
quite  twenty-one,  till  the  "  Licensing  Act "  of  1737 
closed  his  theatre  ten  years  later,  Fielding's  literary 
work  was  chiefly  dramatic.  Twenty-five  plays  of  his 
appear  in  the  large  edition  of  Fielding  got  out  by 
Sir  Leslie  Stephen  some  twenty  years  ago,  of  which 
they  fill  three  of  the  ten  big  volumes.  Though  two 
or  three  of  these  plays  did  not  take  final  shape  until 
after  Joseph  Andrezos  had  made  Richardson  Field- 
ing's implacable  enemy,  they  all  belong  to  the  same 
period  of  the  author's  literary  career  ;  that  in  which, 
as  we  have  seen,  he  was  getting  the  knowledge  of  life 
which  made  his  great  novels  possible.  All  the  plays, 
too,  are  of  substantially  the  same  character.  They 
are  full  of  rollickini;  "-ood  humour,  thev  are  of 
easv-going  morality,  and  they  are  human. 

Among  Fielding's  plays  perha[)s  the  burlescjucs 
show  the  truest  observation  of  life  ;  and  among  them 
common  consent  has  ranked  Tom  Thumb  t\\e  first. 
The  piece  was  brought  out  in  two  acts  in  1730,  when 
it  met  with  such  favour  that  the  next  year  it  «'as 
changed  to  a  three-act  play.     Its  first  interest  lies 

[xvY] 


INTRODUCTION 

in  Fielding's  power  of  burlesque  —  a  power  he  never 
lost  —  which  is  here  exerted  to  ridicule  the  bombast 
of  dramatic  authors  from  Dryden  to  Young  and 
Thomson.  The  preface  by  "  H.  Scriblerus  Secundus "" 
states  with  seeming  gravity  that  The  Tragedy  of 
Tragedies ;  or,  the  Life  and  Death  of  Tom  Thumb  the 
Great  was  written  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth ;  its 
travestied  scholarly  notes,  by  citing  parallel  passages, 
—  according  to  the  annotator,  all  imitated  from  Tom 
Thumb,  —  show  the  better  to  readers  of  to-day  whom 
the  author  was  hittina;.  A  second  interest  lies  in 
its  connection  with  the  English  Arthurian  stories. 
It  is  the  one  trace  in  our  literature  of  the  popular 
association,  during  the  Queen  Anne  period  and  the 
years  which  preceded  and  followed  it,  of  such  heroes 
as  Jack  the  Giant-Killer  and  Tom  Thumb  with  the 
famous  Arthur,  in  place  of  his  old  Knights  of  the 
Round  Table.  Along  with  Sir  Richard  Black  morels 
would-be  noble  Arthurian  epics,  and  the  vulgarisa- 
tion of  the  sage  Merlin  by  the  cheap  almanac- maker, 
Partridge,  the  victim  of  Swift's  fiimous  hoax,  Field- 
ing's ridicule  of  the  great  romantic  king  marks  the 
degradation  of  the  grandest  poetic  theme  of  the 
Middle  Ages  in  the  "  age  of  prose  and  reason.'' 
Yet  I  do  not  think  that  Fielding  intended  to  ridi- 
cule Arthurian  romance  in  Tom  Thumb  as  well  as 
contemporary  tragedy.  Apart  from  .\rthur  and 
Merlin,  he  makes  use  of  no  genuine  Arthurian 
character.  True,  Tom  Thumb  resembles  Sir 
Launcelot  in  being  both  the  best  knight  of  the 
court  and  the  beloved  of  the  queen  and  other 
ladies;    inasmuch   as   he  does  not  return  her  love, 

[  xvii  J 


INTRODUCTION 

however,  but  on  the  contrary  loves  her  daughter,  it 
is  evident  that  Fielding,  even  if  he  meant  to  call 
attention  to  the  parallel  between  Tom  Thumb  and 
Sir  Launcelot  at  all,  had  no  intention  of  insisting  on 
it.  Had  he  done  so,  it  is  doubtful  if  his  audience 
would  have  understood  him. 

Of  the  other  two  plays  chosen  to  represent  Field- 
ing's dramatic  work,  there  is  less  to  say.  Without 
giving  definite  assurance  of  their  writer's  genius,  they 
are  full  of  promise.  Pasqiiin,  produced  in  1736,  was 
the  first  play  acted  at  the  little  theatre  in  the  Hay- 
market,  after  Fielding  became  its  proprietor.  The 
piece  is  a  burlesque  of  somewhat  the  same  style  as 
Tom  Thumb,  but  not  quite  so  good  ;  it  is  a  little 
confused,  and  it  lacks  the  learned  notes  of  H.  Scrib- 
lerus  Secundus.  The  Author's  Farce,  produced  some 
years  earlier,  indeed  a  few  months  before  Tom  Thumb, 
shows  perhaps  in  the  trials  of  Mr.  Luckless  some  of 
Fielding's  own  experiences.  Though  Avi-itten  in  con- 
nection with  the  puppet  show,  The  Pleasures  of  the 
Toxvn,  it  is  virtually  an  independent  piece. 

An  Essay  on  Conversation,  it  has  already  been 
said,  Avas  part  of  the  first  volume  of  the  Miscellanies 
of  1743.  Easily  if  not  concisely  WTitten,  it  is  in- 
teresting as  showing  that  a  gentleman's  ideas  of 
good  breeding — for,  in  spite  of  its  name,  the  essay 
is  not  strictly  on  conversation  — are  substantially  the 
same  in  all  ages.  The  essay  contains  plenty  of  the 
commonplaces  of  good  society,  which,  after  all,  com- 
monplace as  they  are,  can  hardly  be  repeated  too 
often  and  which  are  not  repeated  often  enough  so 
gracefully  as  Fielding  gives  them  to  us  here. 

[  xviii  J 


INTRODUCTION 

After  the  Essay  on  Conversation  come  three  of  the 
.short  moral  essays  at  which  Fielding,  like  so  many 
other  eighteenth-century  writers,  tried  his  hand. 
The  first  is  an  extract  from  the  True  Patriot,  a 
weekly  paper  founded  for  political  purposes  late  in 
1745,  the  year  of  the  Young  Pretender.  Along  with 
political  discussions,  it  gave  its  readers  some  con- 
sideration of  social  matters,  after  the  fashion  made 
popular  by  Steele  and  Addison.  The  number  in 
this  selection  is  especially  interesting  because  it 
takes  the  form  of  a  letter  from  our  old  friend, 
Parson  Adams.  The  Covent  Garden  Journal,  two 
essays  of  which  are  given  here,  was  Fielding's  chief 
literary  work  in  1752.  It  differed  from  the  Patriot 
in  making  less  of  politics.  Though  it  was  more  of 
a  newspaper  than  the  two  famous  early  periodicals 
of  the  century,  the  Tatler  and  the  Spectator,  still  the 
most  important  part  of  it  was  an  essay  in  their  sivle. 

The  letter  which  concludes  the  second  volume  of 
these  Miscellaneous  Writings  was  one  of  five  letters 
written  by  Fielding,  together  with  a  preface,  for  his 
sister,  Sarah  Fielding,  for  her  Familiar  Letters  between 
the  Principal  Characters  in  David  Simple  and  some 
others.  The  most  to  be  said  for  the  letter  now  pub- 
lished is  that  since  its  first  appearance  it  seems  to 
have  been  published  only  once  before,  and  that  it 
has  undoubted  traces  of  Fielding's  brilliancy. 

And  now  for  The  Journal  of  a  Voyage  to  Lisbon, 
the  last  work  of  the  great  novelist.  Fielding  wrote 
it  in  the  summer  of  1754  to  relieve  his  tedium  on 
shipbtmrd  when  the  ladies  of  his  party  were  suffering 
from   sea-sickness.     It   was  published  posthumously 

[xix  ] 


INTRODTTCTION 

in  1755.  Ill  spite  of  the  statement  in  the  Dedication 
to  the  Public^  written  probably  by  Fielding's  brother, 
that  this  little  piece  conies  *'  into  your  hands  as  it 
came  from  the  hands  of  the  author,"  it  is  known 
that  the  Journal  was  carefulh-  edited.  The  name  of 
the  unaccommodating  landlady  at  Ryde  was  changed 
from  Francis  to  Humphreys,  and  some  of  the  passages 
were  omitted  which  were  least  complimentary  to  the 
captain.  As  given  here,  however,  the  Journal  is  in 
its  original  form,  sind  so  virtually  a  rough  copy,  for 
Fielding  could  have  had  little  time  or  inclination  to 
polish  it  in  the  two  months  of  life  which  remained 
to  him  after  the  landing  at  Lisbon.  For  this  reason, 
the  sentences,  at  least  of  the  Journal  proper,  are  not 
always  so  carefully  composed  us  those  of  Fielding\s 
novels  ;  otherwise  in  point  of  style,  nothing  of  his 
is  superior.  Nor  is  his  fiction  often  better  narrative  ; 
Tlie  Journal  has  both  good  movement  and  reality. 
Mrs.  Francis,  that  landlady  already  mentioned,  would 
make  a  very  presentable  figure  in  a  novel,  and  so, 
too,  would  the  captain  and  the  pretty  fellow,  his 
nephew.  But,  after  all,  we  prize  the  Voyage  to 
Lisbon  to-day  not  so  much  because  it  is  the  last 
product  of  Fielding's  genius  as  because  it  reveals  the 
man  himself  unaffectedly  in  his  family  relations. 
From  the  time  he  sees  at  Fordhook  the  rising  of 
"  the  most  melancholy  sun ""  he  ever  beheld,  to  hi.i 
disembarking  from  his  ship,  The  Queen  of  PoiiugaJ, 
at  Lisbon,  to  drive  "through  the  nastiest  city  in  the 
world "  up  to  the  coffee-house  on  the  hill.  Fielding 
makes  us  intimate  meml3ors  of  his  party.  We  are 
troubled  at  Mrs.  Fielding's  toothache,  thrown  into 

[xx] 


INTRODUCTION     - 

consternation  at  the  loss  of  the  tea-chest,  and  amused, 
in  spite  of  our  tender  hearts,  at  the  tragic  fate  of 
the  kitten.  That  merry  dinner  in  the  barn  after  a 
hundred  and  fifty  years  has  yet  an  uncommon  relish  ; 
and  the  sunset  and  the  moonrise  at  sea  still  impress 
us  with  their  splendour. 

One  reason  why  Fielding  proves  himself  such  a 
pleasant  tra\elling  companion  is  that  as  we  know 
him  on  The  Queen  of  Fortugal  he  is  one  of  the  finest 
gentlemen  in  the  world.  His  magnanimity  in  for- 
giving the  churlish  captain  has  often  been  commented 
upon,  but  there  is  another  part  of  the  story  deserv- 
ing of  notice.  After  saying  that  Tom,  the  captain's 
man,  in  relating  his  grievances  against  Fielding  gave 
the  captain  a  true  account,  save  for  adding  five  or 
six  immaterial  circumstances,  he  goes  on  with  charm- 
ing frankness,  "  as  is  always  I  believe  the  case,  and 
may  possibly  have  been  done  by  me  in  relating  this 
very  story,  though  it  happened  not  many  hours 
ago."  Nothing,  moreover,  could  surpass  his  affec- 
tion and  his  tender  respect  for  his  wife  and  liis 
daughter.  If  he  did  not  treat  Mary  Daniel  (his 
first  wife's  maid,  be  it  remembered)  with  all  honour 
in  the  da\s  before  her  marriage,  which  was  followed 
full  soon  by  the  christening  of  her  eldest  child,  he 
made  up  for  it  by  liis  husbandly  thoughtfulness  and 
recognition  of  her  excellent  qualities.  We  cannot  be 
too  grateful  for  this  last  fair  glimpse  which  the 
Journal  gives  us  of  Henry  Fielding  in  his  family 
life.  What  though  it  show  him  as  a  dropsical, 
gouty  magistrate,  whose  conscientious  labours  and 
failing  health  have  joined  to  put  him  almost  into 

[xxi] 


INTRODUCTION 

the  gi*ave  ?  Even  so,  there  remain  his  shrewd  intei- 
est  in  human  nature  and  his  keen  enjoyment  of  Hfe, 
his  amiabihty,  his  consideration  of  those  about  him, 
and  his  perfect  honesty,  ■ —  quahties  which  make  him 
as  lovable  as  any  of  the  greater  English  men  of 
letters. 

G.  H.  Maynadier. 


(  xxii  "I 


A  JOURNEY  FROM  THIS  WORLD 
TO   THE   NEXT 


VOL.  I. 


A  JOURNEY  from  THIS 
WORLD  to  THE  NEXT 


INTRODUCTION. 

WHETHER  the  ensuing  pages  were 
really  the  dream  or  vision  of  some  very 
pious  and  holy  person ;  or  whether 
they  were  really  written  in  the  other 
world,  and  sent  back  to  this,  which  is  the  opinion  of 
many  (though  I  think  too  much  inclining  to  super- 
stition) ;  or  lastly,  whether,  as  infinitely  the  greatest 
part  imagine,  they  were  really  the  production  of  some 
choice  inhabitant  of  New  Bethlehem,  is  not  necessary 
nor  easy  to  determine.  It  will  be  abundantly  suffi- 
cient if  I  give  the  reader  an  account  by  what  means 
they  came  into  my  possession. 

Mr.  Robert  Powney,  stationer,  who  dwells  opposite 
to  Catherine-street  in  the  Strand,  a  very  honest  man 
and  of  great  gravity  of  countenance  ;  who,  among 
other  excellent  stationary  commodities,  is  particularly 
eminent  for  his  pens,  which  I  am  abundantly  bound 
to  acknowledge,  as  I  o\\  e  to  their  peculiar  goodness 
that  my  manuscripts  have  by  any  means  been  legible  : 
this  gentleman,  I  say,  furnished  me  some  time  since 
with  a  bundle  of  those  pens,  wrapped  up  with  gi-eat 
care  and  caution,  in  a  very  large  sheet  of  paper  full 

[3] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

of  characters,  written  as  it  seemed  in  a  very  bad 
hand.  Now,  I  have  a  surprising  curiosity  to  read 
everything  which  is  ahnost  illegible  ;  partly  perhaps 
from  the  sweet  remembrance  of  the  dear  Scrawls, 
Skrawls,  or  Skrales  (for  the  word  is  variously  spelt), 
which  I  have  in  my  youth  received  from  that  lovely 
part  of  the  creation  for  which  I  have  the  tenderest 
rei>-ard  ;  and  partly  from  that  temper  of  mind  which 
UKikes  men  set  an  immense  value  on  old  manuscripts 
so  effaced,  bustoes  so  maimed,  and  pictures  so  black 
that  no  one  can  tell  what  to  make  of  them.  I  there- 
fore perused  this  sheet  with  wonderful  application, 
and  in  about  a  day's  time  discovered  that  I  could 
not  understand  it.  I  immediately  repaired  to  Mr. 
Powney,  and  inquired  very  eagerly  whether  he  had 
not  more  of  the  same  manuscript  ?  He  produced 
about  one  hundred  pages,  acquainting  me  that  he 
had  saved  no  more  ;  but  that  the  book  was  origi- 
nally a  huge  folio,  had  been  left  in  his  garret  by  a 
gentleman  who  lodged  there,  and  who  had  left  him 
no  other  satisfaction  for  nine  months'  lodging.  He 
proceeded  to  inform  me  that  the  manuscript  had 
been  hawked  about  (as  he  phrased  it)  among  all 
the  booksellers,  who  refused  to  meddle  ;  some  al- 
ledged  that  they  could  not  read,  others  that  they 
could  not  understand  it.  Some  would  have  it  to 
be  an  atheistical  book,  and  some  that  it  was  a  libel 
on  the  government ;  for  one  or  other  of  which  reasons 
they  all  refused  to  print  it.  That  it  had  been  like- 
M'ise  shewn  to  the  R — 1  Society,  but  they  shook  their 
heads,  saying,  there  was  nothing  in  it  wonderful 
enough  for  them.     That,  hearing  the  gentleman  was 

[4] 


INTRODUCTION 

gone  to  the  West-Indies,  and  believing  it  to  be  good 
for  notliing  else,  he  had  used  it  as  waste  paper.  He 
said  I  was  welcome  to  what  remained,  and  he  was 
heartily  soiTy  for  what  was  missing,  as  I  seemed  to 
set  some  value  on  it. 

I  desired  him  much  to  name  a  price :  but  he  would 
receive  no  consideration  farther  than  the  payment  of 
a  small  bill  I  owed  him,  which  at  that  time  he  said 
he  looked  on  as  so  much  money  given  him. 

I  presently  comnmnicated  this  manuscript  to  my 
friend  parson  Abraham  Adams,  who,  after  a  long 
and  careful  perusal,  returned  it  me  with  his  opinion 
that  there  was  more  in  it  than  at  first  appeared ; 
that  the  author  seemed  not  entirely  unacquainted 
with  tlie  writings  of  Plato ;  but  he  wished  he  had 
quoted  him  sometimes  in  his  margin,  that  I  might 
be  sure  (said  he)  he  had  read  him  in  the  original : 
for  nothing,  continued  the  parson,  is  commoner  than 
for  men  now-a-days  to  pretend  to  have  read  Greek 
authors,  who  have  met  with  them  only  in  transla- 
tions, and  cannot  conjugate  a  verb  in  mi. 

To  deliver  my  own  sentiments  on  the  occasion,  I 
think  the  author  discove]-s  a  philosophical  turn  of 
thinking,  with  some  little  knowledge  of  the  world, 
and  no  very  inadequate  value  of  it.  There  are  some 
indeed  who,  from  the  vivacity  of  their  temper  and 
the  happiness  of  their  station,  are  willing  to  consider 
its  blessings  as  more  substantial,  and  the  whole  to 
be  a  scene  of  more  consequence  than  it  is  here  repre- 
sented :  but,  without  controverting  their  opinions  at 
present,  the  number  of  wise  and  good  men  who  have 
thought  with  our  author  are  sufficient  to  keep  him 

[5] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

in  countenance  :  nor  can  this  be  attended  with  any 
ill  inference,  since  he  everywhere  teaches  this  moral : 
That  the  greatest  and  truest  happiness  which  this 
world  affords,  is  to  be  found  only  in  the  possession 
of  goodness  and  virtue  ;  a  doctrine  which,  as  it  is 
undoubtedly  true,  so  hath  it  so  noble  and  practical 
a  tendency,  that  it  can  never  be  too  often  or  too 
strongly  inculcated  on  the  minds  of  men. 


tej 


BOOK   I 


CHAPTER   ONE 

THE  AUTHOR  DIES,  MEETS  WITH  MEECURY,  AND  IS  BY 
HIM  CONDUCTED  TO  THE  STAGE  WHICH  SETS  OUT 
FOE    THE    OTHER    WORLD. 

ON  the  first  day  of  December  1741  ^  I  de- 
i  parted  this  hfe  at  my  lodgings  in  Cheap- 
P  side.  My  body  had  been  some  time 
dead  before  I  was  at  liberty  to  quit  it, 
lest  it  should  by  any  accident  return  to  life  :  this  is 
an  injunction  imposed  on  all  souls  by  the  eternal 
law  of  fate,  to  prevent  the  inconveniences  which 
would  follow.  As  soon  as  the  destined  period  was 
expired  (being  no  longer  than  till  the  body  is  be- 
come perfectly  cold  and  stiff)  I^  began  to  move  ;  but 
found  myself  imder  a  difficulty  of  making  my  escape, 
for  the  mouth  or  door  was  shut,  so  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  me  to  go  out  at  it  ;  and  the  windows, 
vulgarly  called  the  eyes,  were  so  closely  pulled  down 

1  Some  doubt  whether  this  should  not  be  rather  1641,  which 
is  a  date  more  agreeable  to  the  account  given  of  it  in  tlie  in- 
troduction :  but  then  there  are  some  passages  which  seem  to 
relate  to  transactions  infinitely  later,  even  within  this  year  or 
two.  To  say  the  truth  there  are  difficulties  attending  either 
conjecture ;  so  the  reader  may  take  which  he  pleases. 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

by  the  fingers  of  a  nurse,  that  I  could  by  no  means 
open  them.  At  last  I  perceived  a  beam  of  light 
ghmmering  at  the  top  of  the  house  (for  such  I  may 
call  the  body  I  had  been  inclosed  in),  whither  as- 
cending, I  gently  let  myself  down  through  a  kind  of 
chimney,  and  issued  out  at  the  nostrils. 

No  prisoner  discharged  from  a  long  confinement 
ever  tasted  the  sweets  of  liberty  with  a  more  exqui- 
site relish  than  I  enjoyed  in  this  delivery  from  a  dun- 
geon wherein  I  had  been  detained  upw-aids  of  forty 
years,  and  with  much  the  same  kind  of  regard  I  cast 
mv  eyes^  backwards  upon  it. 

My  friends  and  relations  had  all  quitted  the  room, 
being  all  (as  I  plainly  overheard)  very  loudly  (juar- 
relling  below  stairs  about  my  will  ;  there  was  only 
an  old  woman  left  above  to  guard  the  body,  as  I  ap- 
prehend. She  was  in  a  fast  sleep,  occasioned,  as 
from  her  savour  it  seemed,  by  a  comfortable  dose  of 
gin.  I  had  no  pleasure  in  this  company,  and,  there- 
fore, as  the  window  was  wide  open,  I  sallied  forth 
into  the  open  air  :  but,  to  my  great  astonishment, 
found  myself  unable  to  fly,  w  hich  I  had  always  dur- 
ing my  habitation  in  the  body  conceived  of  spirits  ; 
however,  I  came  so  lightly  to  the  ground  that  I  did 
not  hurt  myself ;  and,  though  I  had  not  the  gift  of 
flying  (owing  probably  to  my  having  neither  feath- 
ers nor  wings),  I  was  capable  of  hopping  such  a  pro- 
digious way  at  once,  that  it  served  my  turn  almost 
as  well. 

^  Eyes  are  not  perhaps  so  properly  adapted  to  a  spiritual 
substance  ;  but  we  are  here,  as  in  many  other  places,  obliged  to 
use  corporeal  terms  to  make  ourselves  the  better  understood. 


MEETING    WITH    MERCURY 

I  had  not  hopped  far  before  I  perceived  a  tall 
young  gentleman  in  a  silk  waistcoat,  with  a  wing  on 
his  left  heel,  a  garland  on  his  head,  and  a  caduceus 
in  his  right  hand.^  I  thought  I  had  seen  this  per- 
son before,  but  had  not  time  to  recollect  where,  when 
he  called  out  to  me  and  asked  me  how  long  I  had 
been  departed.  I  answered  I  was  just  come  forth. 
"  You  must  not  stay  here,"  replied  he,  "  unless  you 
had  been  murdered  :  iti  which  case,  indeed,  you 
might  have  been  suffered  to  walk  some  time  ;  but  if 
vou  died  a  natural  death  you  must  set  out  for  the 
other  world  immediately.'"  I  desired  to  know  the 
way.  "  O,"  cried  the  gentleman,  "  I  will  show  you 
to  the  inn  whence  the  stage  proceeds  ;  for  I  am  the 
porter.  Perhaps  you  never  heard  of  me  —  my  name 
is  Mercury.""  '"  Sure,  sir,"  said  I,  "  I  have  seen  you 
at  the  playhouse.""  Upon  which  he  smiled,  and, 
without  satisfying  me  as  to  that  point,  walked  di- 
rectly forward,  bidding  me  hop  aftei"  him.  I  obeyed 
him,  and  soon  found  myself  in  Warwick-lane;  where 
Mercurv,  making  a  full  stop,  pointed  at  a  particular 
house,  where  he  bad  me  enquire  for  the  stage,  and, 
wishing  me  a  good  journey,  took  his  leave,  saying  he 
must  iro  seek  after  other  customers. 

I  arrived  just  as  the  coach  was  setting  out,  and 
found  I  had  no  reason  for  encjuiry  ;  for  every  person 
seemed  to  know  my  business  the  moment  I  appeared 
at  tlie  door  :  the  coachman  told  me  his  horses  were 

1  This  is  the  dress  in  which  the  god  appears  to  mortals  at 
the  theatres.  One  of  the  offices  attributed  to  this  god  by  the 
ancients,  was  to  collect  the  ghosts  as  a  shepherd  doth  a  flock  of 
sheep,  and  drive  them  with  his  wand  into  the  other  world. 

[9] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

to,  but  that  he  had  no  place  left ;  however,  though 
there  were  already  six,  the  passengers  offered  to 
make  room  for  me.  I  thanked  them,  and  ascended 
Avithout  nnich  ceremony.  We  immediately  began 
our  journey,  being  seven  in  number  ;  for,  as  the 
women  wore  no  hoops,  three  of  them  were  but 
equal  to  two  men. 

Perhaps,  reader,  thou  mayest  be  pleased  with  an 
account  of  this  whole  equipage,  as  peradventure  thou 
wilt  not,  while  alive,  see  any  such.  The  coach  was 
made  by  an  eminent  toyman,  who  is  well  known  to 
deal  in  immaterial  substance,  that  being  the  mat- 
ter of  which  it  was  compounded.  The  work  was  so 
extremely  fine,  that  it  was  entirely  invisible  to  the 
human  eye.  The  hoi'ses  which  drew  this  extraordi- 
nary vehicle  were  all  spiritual,  as  well  as  the  passen- 
gers. They  had,  indeed,  all  died  in  the  service  of  a 
certain  post-master  ;  and  as  for  the  coachman,  who 
was  a  very  thin  piece  of  iunnaterial  substance,  he  had 
the  honour  while  alive  of  driving  the  Great  Peter, 
or  Peter  the  Great,  in  whose  service  his  soul,  as  well 
as  body,  was  almost  starved  to  death. 

Such  was  the  vehicle  in  which  I  set  out,  and  now, 
those  who  are  not  willing  to  travel  on  with  me  may, 
if  they  please,  stop  here  ;  those  who  are,  must  pro- 
ceed to  the  subsequent  chapters,  in  which  this  journey 
is  continued. 


[iOj 


CHAPTER    TWO 

IN  WHICH  THE  AUTHOR  FIRST  REFUTES  SOME  IDLE 
OPINIONS  CONCERNING  SPIRITS,  AND  THEN  THE 
PASSENGERS    RELATE    THEIR    SEVERAL    DEATHS. 

IT  is  the  common  opinion  that  spirits,  like  owls, 
can  see  in  the  dark  ;  nay,  and  can  then  most 
easily  be  perceived  by  otliers.  For  which  rea- 
son, many  persons  of  good  understanding,  to 
prevent  being  terrified  with  such  objects,  usually  keep 
a  candle  burning  by  them,  that  the  light  may  pre- 
vent their  seeing.  Mr.  Locke,  in  direct  opposition 
to  this,  hath  not  doubted  to  assert  that  you  may  see 
a  spirit  in  open  daylight  full  as  well  as  in  the  dark- 
est night. 

It  was  very  dark  when  we  set  out  from  the  inn, 
nor  could  we  see  any  more  than  if  every  soul  of  us 
had  been  alive.  We  had  travelled  a  good  wav  before 
any  one  offered  to  open  his  mouth ;  indeed,  most  of 
the  company  were  fast  asleep,^  but,  as  I  could  not 
close  my  own  eyes,  and  perceived  the  spirit  who  sat 
opposite  to  me  to  be  likewise  awake,  I  began  to  make 
overtures  of  conversation,  by  complaining  how  dark 
it  zaas.  "  And  extnMnely  cold  too,"  answered  my  fel- 
low-traveller ;  "though,  I  thank  God,  as  I  have  no 
body,  I  feel  no  inconvenience  from  it :  but  you  will 

1  Those  who  have  read  of  the  gods  sleeping  in  Homer  will 
not  be  surprized  at  this  happening  to  spirits!, 

[11] 


THIS    WOULD    TO    THE    NEXT 

believe,  sir,  that  this  frosty  air  must  seem  very  sharp 
to  one  just  issued  forth  out  of  an  oven  ;  for  such  was 
the  inflamed  habitation  I  am  lately  departed  from.'" 
"  How  did  you  come  to  your  end,  sir  ?  "  said  I.  "  I 
was  murdered,  sir,"  answered  the  gentleman.  "  I  am 
surprized  then,"  replied  I,  "  tliat  you  did  not  divert 
yourself  by  walking  up  and  down  and  playing  some 
merry  tricks  with  the  murderer."  "  Oh,  sir,"  re- 
turned he,  "  I  had  not  that  privilege,  I  was  lawfully 
put  to  death.  In  shoi't,  a  pliysician  set  me  on  fire, 
by  giving  me  medicines  to  throw  out  my  distemper. 
I  died  of  a  hot  regimen,  as  they  call  it,  in  the  small- 
pox." 

One  of  the  spirits  at  that  word  started  up  and 
cried  out,  "  The  small-pox !  bless  me !  I  hope  I  am 
not  in  company  with  that  distemper,  which  I  have 
all  my  life  with  such  caution  avoided,  and  have  so 
happily  escaped  hitherto  ! "  This  fright  set  all  the 
passengers  who  were  awake  into  a  loud  laughter ;  and 
the  gentleman,  recollecting  himself,  with  some  confu- 
sion, and  not  without  blushing,  asked  pardon,  crying, 
"  I  protest  I  dreamt  that  I  was  alive."  "  Perhaps, 
sir,"  said  I,  "you  died  of  that  distemper,  which 
therefore  made  so  strong  an  impression  on  you." 
"  No,  sir,"  answered  he,  "  I  never  had  it  in  mv  life  ; 
but  the  contiimal  and  dreadful  apprehension  it  kept 
me  so  long  under  cannot,  I  see,  be  so  immediately 
eradicated.  You  must  know,  sir,  I  avoided  coming 
to  London  for  thirty  years  together,  for  fear  of  the 
small-pox,  till  the  most  urgent  business  brought  me 
thither  about  five  days  ago.  I  was  so  dreadfully 
afraid  of  this  disease  that  I  refused  the  second  night 

[12] 


CONVERSATION    OF    SPIRITS 

of  my  arrival  to  sup  with  a  friend  whose  wife  had 
recovered  of  it  several  months  before,  and  the  same 
evening  got  a  surfeit  by  eating  too  many  muscles, 
which  brouglit  me  into  this  good  company." 

"  I  will  lay  a  wager,"  cried  the  spirit  who  sat  next 
him,  "  there  is  not  one  in  the  coach  able  to  guess  my 
distemper."  I  desired  the  favour  of  him  to  acquaint 
us  with  it,  if  it  was  so  uncommon.  "  Why,  sir," 
said  he,  "  I  died  of  honour."  —  "  Of  honour,  sir  !  " 
repeated  I,  with  some  sui'prize.  "  Yes,  sir,"  answered 
the  spirit,  "  of  honour,  for  I  was  killed  in  a  duel." 

"  For  my  part,"  said  a  fair  spirit,  "  I  was  inocu- 
lated last  summer,  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  es- 
cape with  a  very  few  marks  on  my  face.  I  esteemed 
myself  now  perfectly  happy,  as  I  imagined  I  had  no 
restraint  to  a  full  enjoyment  of  the  diversions  of  the 
town  ;  but  within  a  few  days  after  my  coming  up  I 
caught  cold  by  overdancing  myself  at  a  ball,  and  last 
night  died  of  a  violent  fever." 

After  a  short  silence  which  now  ensued,  the  fair 
spirit  who  spoke  last,  it  being  now  daylight,  addressed 
herself  to  a  female  who  sat  next  her,  and  asked  her  to 
what  chance  they  owed  the  happiness  of  her  company. 
She  answered,  she  apprehended  to  a  consumption, 
but  the  phvsicians  were  not  agreed  concerning  her 
distemper,  for  she  left  two  of  them  in  a  very  hot 
dispute  about  it  when  she  came  out  of  her  body. 
"  And  prav,  madam,"  said  the  same  spirit  to  the 
sixth  passenger,  "  How  came  you  to  leave  the  other 
world?"  But  that  female  spirit,  screwing  up  her 
jnouth,  answered,  she  wondered  at  the  curiositv  of 
some  people  ;  that  perhaps  persons  had  already  heard 

[13] 


THIS    WORLD   TO    THE    NEXT 

some  reports  of  her  death,  which  were  far  from  being 
ti-ae ;  that,  whatever  was  the  occasion  of  it,  she  was 
glad  at  being  dehvered  from  a  world  in  which  she 
had  no  pleasui'C,  and  where  there  was  nothing  but 
nonsense  and  impertinence;  particularly  among  her 
own  sex,  whose  loose  conduct  she  had  long  been  en- 
tirely ashamed  of. 

The  beauteous  spirit,  perceiving  her  question  gave 
offence,  pursued  it  no  farther.  She  had  indeed  all  the 
sweetness  and  good-humour  which  are  so  extremely 
amiable  (when  foimd)  in  that  sex  which  tenderness 
most  ex([uisitely  becomes.  Her  countenance  dis- 
played all  the  cheerfulness,  the  good-nature,  and  the 
modesty,  which  diffuse  such  brightness  round  the 
beauty  of  Seraphina,^  awing  every  beholder  with 
respect,  and,  at  the  same  time,  ravishing  him  with 
admiration.  Had  it  not  been  indeed  for  our  conver- 
sation on  the  small-pox,  I  should  have  imagined  we 
had  been  honoured  with  her  identical  presence.  This 
opinion  might  have  been  heightened  by  the  good 
sense  she  uttered  whenever  she  spoke,  by  the  delicacy 
of  her  sentiments,  and  the  complacence  of  her  be- 
haviour, together  with  a  certain  dignity  which  at- 
tended every  look,  word,  and  gesture  ;  qualities  which 
could  not  fail  making  an  impression  on  a  heart ^  so 
capable  of  receiving  it  as  mine,  nor  was  she  long  in 

1  A  particular  lady  of  quality  is  meant  here ;  but  every  lady 
of  quality,  or  no  quality,  are  welcome  to  apply  the  character  to 
themselves. 

2  We  have  before  made  an  apology  for  this  language,  which  we 
here  repeat  for  the  last  time  ;  though  the  heart  may,  we  hope, 
be  metaphorically  used  here  with  more  propriety  than  when  we 
apply  those  passions  to  the  body  which  belong  to  the  soul. 

[  ^<'  J 


LOWEll    WORLD    DISCUSSED 

raising  in  me  a  very  violent  degree  of  seraphic  love. 
I  do  not  intend  by  this,  that  sort  of  love  which  men 
are  very  properly  said  to  make  to  women  in  the 
lower  world,  and  which  seldom  lasts  any  longer  than 
while  it  is  making.  I  mean  by  seraphic  love  an 
extreme  delicacy  and  tendeiness  of  friendship,  of 
■which,  my  worthy  reader,  if  thou  hast  no  conception, 
as  it  is  probable  thou  mayest  not,  my  endeavour  to 
instruct  thee  would  be  as  fruitless  as  it  would  be  to 
explain  the  most  difficult  problems  of  Sir  Isaac  New- 
ton to  one  ignorant  of  \ulgar  arithmetic. 

To  return  therefore  to  matters  comprehensible  by 
all  understandings  :  the  discourse  now  turned  on  the 
vanity,  folly,  and  misery  of  the  lower  world,  from 
which  every  passenger  in  the  coach  expressed  the 
highest  satisfaction  in  being  delivered  ;  though  it 
was  very  remarkable  that,  notwithstanding  the  joy 
we  declared  at  our  death,  there  was  not  one  of  us 
who  did  not  mention  the  accident  which  occasioned 
it  as  a  thing  we  would  have  avoided  if  we  could. 
Nay,  the  very  grave  lady  herself,  who  was  the 
forwardest  in  testifying  her  delight,  confessed  inad- 
vertently that  she  left  a  physician  by  her  bedside  ; 
and  the  gentleman  who  died  of  honour  very  liberally 
cursed  both  his  folly  and  his  fencing,  ivhile  we 
were  entertaining  ourselves  with  these  matters,  on  a 
sudden  a  most  offensive  smell  began  to  invade  our 
nostrils.  This  very  much  resembled  the  savour 
which  travellers  in  summer  perceive  at  their  ap- 
proach to  that  beautiful  village  of  the  Hague,  aris- 
ing from  those  delicious  canals  which,  as  they  consist 
of  standing    water,   do    at    that    time  emit    odours 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

greatly  agreeable  to  a  Dutch  taste,  but  not  so 
pleasant  to  any  other.  Tliose  perfumes,  with  the 
assistance  of  a  fair  wind,  begin  to  affect  persons 
of  quick  olfactory  nerves  at  a  league's  distance,  and 
increase  gradually  as  you  approach.  In  the  same 
manner  did  the  smell  I  have  just  mentioned,  more 
and  more  invade  us,  till  one  of  the  spii'its,  looking 
out  of  the  coach-window,  declared  we  were  just  ar- 
i-ived  at  a  very  large  city  ;  and  indeed  he  had  scarce 
said  so  before  we  found  ourselves  in  the  suburbs, 
and,  at  the  same  time,  the  coachman,  being  asked 
by  another,  informed  us  that  the  name  of  this  place 
was  the  City  of  Diseases.  The  I'oad  to  it  was  ex- 
tremely smooth,  and,  excepting  the  above-mentioned 
savour,  delightfully  pleasant.  The  streets  of  the 
suburbs  were  lined  with  bagnios,  taverns,  and  cooks' 
shops  :  in  the  first  we  saw  several  beautiful  women, 
but  in  tawdry  dresses,  looking  out  at  the  windows  ; 
and  in  the  latter  were  visibly  exposed  all  kinds  of 
the  richest  dainties;  but  on  our  entering  the  city 
we  found,  contrary  to  all  we  had  seen  in  the  other 
world,  that  the  suburbs  were  infinitely  pleasanter 
than  the  city  itself.  It  was  indeed  a  very  dull, 
dark,  and  melancholy  place.  Few  people  appeared 
in  the  streets,  and  Lhese,  for  the  most  part,  were  old 
women,  and  here  and  there  a  formal  grave  gentle- 
man, who  seemed  to  be  thinking,  with  large  tie-wigs 
on,  and  amber-headed  canes  in  their  hands.  We 
were  all  in  hopes  that  our  vehicle  would  not  stop 
here ;  but,  to  our  sorrow,  the  coach  soon  drove  into 
an  inn,  and  we  were  obliged  to  alight. 

[16]      ^ 


CHAPTER  THREE 

THE     ADVENTURES     WE     MET     WITH     IN     THE      CITY     OF 

DISEASES. 

WE  had  not  been  long  arrived  in  our 
inn,  where  it  seems  we  were  to  spend 
the  remainder  of  the  day,  before  our 
host  acquainted  us  that  it  was  cus- 
tomary for  all  spirits,  in  their  passage  through  that 
city,  to  pay  their  respects  to  that  lady  Disease,  to 
whose  assistance  thev  had  owed  their  deliverance 
from  the  lower  world.  We  answered  we  should  not 
fail  in  any  complacence  which  was  usual  to  others  ; 
upon  which  our  host  replied  he  would  immediately 
send  porters  to  conduct  us.  He  had  not  long  quitted 
the  room  before  we  were  attended  by  some  of  those 
grave  persons  whom  I  have  before  described  in  large 
tie-wigs  with  amber-headed  canes.  These  gentlemen 
are  the  ticket-porters  in  the  city,  and  their  canes  are 
the  hislg-nia,  or  tickets,  denoting  their  office.  We 
informed  them  of  the  several  ladies  to  whom  we  were 
obliged,  and  were  preparing  to  follow  them,  when  on 
a  sudden  they  all  stared  at  one  another,  and  left  us 
in  a  hurry,  with  a  frown  on  every  countenance.  We 
were  surprized  at  this  behaviour,  and  presently  sum- 
mone<l  the  host,  who  was  no  sooner  acquainted  with 
it  than  he  burst  into  an  hearty  laugh,  and  told  us 

TOL.  1.  — 2  [  n  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

the  reason  was,  because  we  did  not  fee  the  gentle- 
men the  moment  they  came  in,  according  to  the 
custom  of  the  place.  We  answered,  with  some  con- 
fusion, we  had  brought  nothing  with  us  from  the 
other  world,  which  we  had  been  all  our  lives  in- 
formed was  not  lawful  to  do.  "  No,  no,  master," 
replied  the  host ;  "  I  am  apprized  of  that,  and  in- 
deed it  was  my  fault.  I  should  have  first  sent  you 
to  my  lord  Scrape,^  who  would  have  supplied  you 
with  what  you  want.""  "  My  lord  Scrape  supply 
us  ! ''  said  I,  with  astonishment :  "  sure  you  must 
know  we  cannot  give  him  security  ;  and  I  am  con- 
vinced he  never  lent  a  shilling  without  it  in  his  life." 
"  No,  sir,""  answered  the  host,  "  and  for  that  reason 
he  is  obliged  to  do  it  here,  where  he  is  sentenced  to 
keep  a  bank,  and  to  distribute  money  g?-atis  to  all 
passengers.  This  bank  originally  consisted  of  just 
that  sum,  which  he  had  miserably  hoarded  up  in  the 
other  world,  and  he  is  to  perceive  it  decrease  visibly 
one  shilling  a-day,  till  it  is  totally  exhausted ;  after 
which  he  is  to  return  to  the  other  world,  and  per- 
form the  part  of  a  miser  for  seventy  years  ;  then, 
being  purified  in  the  body  of  a  hog,  he  is  to  enter 
the  human  species  again,  and  take  a  second  trial." 
"  Sir,"  said  I,  "you  tell  me  wonders  :  but  if  his  bank 
be  to  decrease  only  a  shilling  a  day,  how  can  he  fur- 
nish all  passengers  ?  "  "  The  rest,"  answered  the 
host,  "  is  supplied  again  ;  but  in  a  manner  which  I 
cannot  easily  explain  to  you."     "  I  apprehend,"  said 

1  That  we  may  mention  it  once  for  all,  in  the  panegyrical 
part  of  this  work  some  particular  person  is  always  meant  :  but, 
in  the  satirical,  nobody. 

[18] 


IN    THE    CITY    OF    DISEASES 

I,  "  this  distribution  of  his  money  is  inflicted  on  him 
as  a  punishment ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  it  can  an- 
swer that  end,  when  he  knows  it  is  to  be  restored  to 
him  again.  Would  it  not  serve  the  purpose  as  well 
if  he  parted  only  with  the  single  shilling,  which  it 
seems  is  all  he  is  really  to  lose  ?  ""  "  Sir,"  cries  the 
host,  "  when  you  observe  the  agonies  with  which  he 
parts  with  every  guinea,  you  will  be  of  another  opin- 
ion. No  prisoner  condemned  to  death  ever  begged 
so  heartily  for  transportation  as  he,  when  he  received 
his  sentence,  did  to  go  to  hell,  provided  he  might 
carry  his  money  with  him.  But  you  will  know  more 
of  these  things  when  you  arrive  at  the  upper  world  ; 
and  now,  if  you  please,  I  will  attend  you  to  my 
lord's,  who  is  obliged  to  supply  you  with  whatever 
you  desire." 

We  found  his  lordship  sitting  at  the  upper  end  of 
a  table,  on  which  was  an  inmiense  sum  of  money, 
disposed  in  several  heaps,  every  one  of  which  would 
have  purchased  the  honour  of  some  patriots  and  the 
chastity  of  some  prudes.  The  moment  he  saw  us  he 
turned  pale,  and  sighed,  as  well  apprehending  our 
business.  Mine  host  accosted  him  with  a  familiar 
air,  which  at  first  surprized  me,  who  so  well  re- 
membered the  respect  I  had  formerly  seen  paid  this 
lord  by  men  infinitely  superior  in  quality  to  the  per- 
son who  now  saluted  him  in  the  following  manner  : 
"  Here,  you  lord,  and  be  dam — d  to  your  little  sneak- 
ing soul,  tell  out  yom-  moneVi^and  supply  your  bet- 
ters with  what  they  want.  Re  quick,  sirrah,  or  I'll 
fetch  the  beadle  to  you.  Don't  fancy  yourself  in 
the  lower  world  again,  with  your  privilege  at  your 

[19j 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

a — ."'  He  then  shook  a  cane  at  his  lordship,  who 
immediately  began  to  tell  out  his  money,  with  the 
same  miserable  air  and  face  which  the  miser  on 
our  stage  wears  while  he  delivers  his  bank-bills.  This 
affected  some  of  us  so  much  that  we  had  certainly 
returned  with  no  more  than  what  would  have  been 
sufficient  to  fee  the  porters,  had  not  our  host,  per- 
ceiving our  compassion,  begged  us  not  to  spare  a 
fellow  who,  in  the  midst  of  immense  wealth,  had 
always  refused  the  least  contribution  to  charity. 
Our  hearts  were  hardened  with  this  reflection,  and 
we  all  filled  our  pockets  with  his  money.  I  re- 
marked a  poetical  spirit,  in  particular,  who  swore 
he  would  have  a  hearty  gripe  at  him :  "  For,"  says 
he,  "  the  rascal  not  only  refused  to  subscribe  to  my 
works,  but  sent  back  my  letter  unanswered,  though 
I  am  a  better  gentleman  than  himself." 

We  now  returned  from  this  miserable  object, 
greatly  admiring  the  propriety  as  well  as  justice  of 
his  punishment,  which  consisted,  as  our  host  in- 
formed us,  merely  in  the  delivering  forth  his  money ; 
and,  he  observed,  we  could  not  wonder  at  the  pain 
this  gave  him,  since  it  was  as  reasonable  that  the 
bare  paiting  with  money  should  make  him  miserable 
as  that  the  bare  having  money  without  using  it 
should  have  made  him  happy. 

Other  tie-wig  porters  (for  those  we  had  summoned 
before  refused  to  visit  us  again)  now  attended  us  ; 
and  we  having  fee'd  them  the  instant  they  entered 
the  room,  according  to  the  instructions  of  our  host, 
they  bowed  and  smiled,  and  offered  to  introduce  us 
to  whatever  disease  we  pleased. 

[W] 


A    FRUITLESS    SEARCH 

We  set  out  several  ways,  as  we  were  all  to  pay 
our  respects  to  diiFerent  ladies.  I  directed  my  por- 
ter to  shew  me  to  the  Fever  on  the  Spirits,  being  the 
disease  which  had  delivered  me  from  the  flesh.  INIy 
guide  and  I  traversed  many  streets,  and  knocked  at 
several  doors,  but  to  no  purpose.  At  one,  we  were 
told,  lived  the  Consumption  ;  at  another,  the  Maladie 
Alamode,  a  French  lady  ;  at  the  third,  the  Dropsy ; 
at  the  fourth,  the  Rheumatism  ;  at  the  fifth,  Intem- 
perance ;  at  the  sixth.  Misfortune.  I  was  tired,  and 
had  exhausted  my  patience,  and  almost  my  pui-se ; 
for  I  gave  my  porter  a  new  fee  at  every  blunder  he 
made  :  when  my  guide,  with  a  solenm  countenance, 
told  me  he  could  do  no  more ;  and  marched  off  with- 
out any  farther  ceremony. 

He  was  no  sooner  gone  than  I  met  another  gen- 
tleman with  a  ticket,  i.  e.,  an  amber-headed  cane  in 
his  hand.  I  first  fee'd  him,  and  then  acquainted 
him  with  the  name  of  the  disease.  He  cast  himself 
for  two  or  three  minutes  into  a  thoughtful  posture, 
then  pulled  a  piece  of  paper  out  of  liis  pocket,  on 
which  he  writ  something  in  one  of  the  Oriental 
languages,  I  believe,  for  I  could  not  read  a  syllable  : 
he  bade  me  carry  it  to  such  a  particular  shop,  and, 
telling  me  it  would  do  my  business,  he  took  his 
leave. 

Secure,  as  I  now  thought  myself,  of  my  direction, 
I  went  to  the  shop,  which  very  much  resembled  an 
apothecary's.  The  person  who  officiated,  having 
read  the  paper,  took  down  about  twenty  different 
jars,  and,  pouring  something  out  of  every  one  of 
them,  made  a  mixture,  which  he  delivered  to  me  in 

[21] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

a  bottle,  having  first  tied  a  paper  round  the  neck  of 
it,  on  which  were  written  three  or  four  words,  the 
last  containing  eleven  syllables,  I  mentioned  the 
name  of  the  disease  I  wanted  to  find  out,  but  re- 
ceived no  other  answer  than  that  he  had  done  as  he 
was  ordered,  and  the  drugs  were  excellent. 

I  began  now  to  be  enraged,  and,  quitting  the  shop 
with  some  anger  in  my  countenance,  I  intended  to 
find  out  my  inn,  but,  meeting  in  the  way  a  porter 
whose  countenance  had  in  it  something  more  pleas- 
ing than  ordinary,  I  resolved  to  try  once  more,  and 
clapped  a  fee  into  his  hand.  As  soon  as  I  mentioned 
the  disease  to  him  he  laughed  heartily,  and  told  me 
I  had  been  imposed  on,  for  in  reality  no  such  disease 
was  to  be  found  in  that  city.  He  then  enquired  into 
the  particulars  of  my  case,  and  was  no  sooner  ac- 
quainted with  them  than  he  informed  me  that  the 
Maladie  Alamode  was  the  lady  to  whom  I  was 
obliged.  I  thanked  him,  and  immediately  went  to 
pay  my  respects  to  her. 

The  house,  or  rather  palace,  of  this  lady  was  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  magnificent  in  the  city. 
The  avenue  to  it  was  planted  with  sycamore-trees, 
with  beds  of  flowers  on  each  side ;  it  was  extremely 
pleasant  but  short.  I  was  conducted  through  a 
magnificent  hall,  adorned  with  several  statues  and 
bustoes,  most  of  them  maimed,  whence  I  concluded 
them  all  to  be  true  antiques  ;  but  was  informed 
they  were  the  figures  of  several  modern  heroes,  who 
had  died  martyrs  to  her  ladyship's  cause.  I  next 
mounted  through  a  large  painted  staircase,  where 
several  persons  were  depictured  in  caricatura;  and, 

[22  J 


A    VISIT    TO    MALADIE    ALAMODE 

upon  enquiry,  was  told  they  were  the  portraits  of 
those  who  had  distinguished  themselves  against  the 
lady  in  the  lower  world.  I  suppose  I  should  have 
known  the  faces  of  many  physicians  and  surgeons, 
had  they  not  been  so  violently  distorted  by  the 
painter.  Indeed,  he  had  exerted  so  much  malice  in 
his  work,  that  I  believe  he  had  himself  received  some 
particular  favours  from  the  lady  of  this  mansion  :  it 
is  difficult  to  conceive  a  group  of  stranger  figures.  I 
then  entered  a  long  room,  hung  round  with  the  pic- 
tures of  women  of  such  exact  shapes  and  features  that 
I  should  have  thought  myself  in  a  gallery  of  beauties, 
had  not  a  certain  sallow  paleness  in  their  complex- 
ions given  me  a  more  distasteful  idea.  Through  this 
I  proceeded  to  a  second  apartment,  adorned,  if  I  may 
so  call  it,  with  the  figures  of  old  ladies.  Upon  my 
seeming  to  admire  at  this  furniture,  the  servant  told 
me  with  a  smile  that  these  had  been  very  good 
friends  of  his  lady,  and  had  done  her  eminent  ser- 
vice in  the  lower  world.  I  immediately  recollected 
the  faces  of  one  or  two  of  my  acquaintance,  who  had 
formerly  kept  bagnios;  but  was  very  much  surprized 
to  see  the  resemblance  of  a  lady  of  great  distinction 
in  such  company.  The  servant,  upon  my  mention- 
ing this,  made  no  other  answer  than  that  his  lady 
had  pictures  of  all  degrees. 

I  was  now  introduced  into  the  presence  of  the  lady 
herself.  She  was  a  thin,  or  rather  meagre,  person, 
very  wan  in  the  countenance,  had  no  nose,  and  many 
pimples  in  her  face.  She  offered  to  rise  at  my  en- 
trance, but  could  not  stand.  After  many  compli- 
ments,  much   congratulation   on   her  side,   and  the 

[23] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

most  fervent  expressions  of  gratitude  on  mine,  she 
asked  me  many  questions  concerning  the  situation  of 
her  affairs  in  the  lower  world ;  most  of  which  I  an- 
swered to  her  intire  satisfaction.  At  last,  with  a 
kind  of  forced  smile,  she  said,  "  I  suppose  the  pill 
and  drop  go  on  swimmingly  ?"  I  told  her  they  were 
reported  to  have  done  great  cures.  She  replied  she 
could  apprehend  no  danger  from  any  person  who  was 
not  of  regular  practice ;  "  for,  however  simple  man- 
kind are,"  said  she,  "  or  however  afraid  they  are  of 
death,  they  prefer  dying  in  a  regular  manner  to  be- 
ing cured  by  a  nostrum."  She  then  expressed  great 
pleasure  at  the  account  I  gave  her  of  the  beau  monde. 
She  said  she  had  herself  removed  the  hundreds  of 
Drury  to  the  hundreds  of  Charing- cross,  and  was 
very  much  delighted  to  find  they  had  spread  into 
St.  James's  ;  that  she  imputed  this  chiefly  to  several 
of  her  dear  and  worthy  friends,  who  had  lately 
published  their  excellent  works,  endeavouring  to 
extirpate  all  notions  of  religion  and  virtue ;  and 
particularly  to  the  deserving  author  of  the  Bach- 
elor's Estimate ;  "  to  whom,"  said  she,  "  if  I  had  not 
reason  to  think  he  was  a  surgeon,  and  had  therefore 
written  from  mercenary  views,  I  could  never  suffi- 
ciently own  my  obligations."  She  spoke  likewise 
greatly  in  approbation  of  the  method,  so  genei*ally 
used  by  parents,  of  marrying  children  very  young, 
and  without  the  least  affection  between  the  parties; 
and  concluded  bv  savinjj  that,  if  these  fashions  con- 
tinned  to  spread,  she  doubted  not  but  she  should 
shortly  be  the  only  disease  who  would  ever  receive  a 
visit  from  any  person  of  considerable  rank. 

[  ^^-^  ] 


UNDUTIFUL    CHILDREN 

Wliile  we  were  discoursing  her  three  daughters 
entered  the  room.  They  were  all  called  by  hard 
names ;  the  eldest  was  named  Lepra,  the  second 
Chaeras,  and  the  third  Scorbutia.^  They  were  all 
genteel,  but  ugly.  I  could  not  help  observing  the 
little  respect  they  paid  their  parent,  which  the  old 
lady  remarking  in  my  countenance,  as  soon  as  they 
quitted  tiie  room,  which  soon  happened,  acquainted 
me  with  her  unhappiness  in  her  oft'spring,  every  one 
of  which  had  the  confidence  to  deny  themselves  to  be 
her  children,  though  she  said  she  had  been  a  very 
indulgent  mother  and  had  plentifully  provided  for 
them  all.  As  family  complaints  generally  as  much 
tire  the  hearer  as  they  relieve  him  who  makes  them, 
when  I  found  her  launching  farther  into  this  subject 
I  resolved  to  put  an  end  to  my  visit,  and,  taking  ray 
leave  with  many  thanks  for  the  favour  she  had  done 
me,  I  returned  to  the  inn,  where  I  found  my  fellow- 
travellei-s  just  mounting  into  their  vehicle.  I  shook 
hands  with  my  host  and  accompanied  them  into  the 
coach,  which  immediately  after  proceeded  on  its 
journey. 

^  These  ladies,  I  believe,  by  their  names,  presided  over  the 
leprosy,  king's-evil,  and  scurvy. 


[25] 


CHAPTER   FOUR 

DISCOURSES    ON    THE    ROAD,  AND   A    DESCRIPTION    OF   THE 
PALACE    OF    DEATH. 

WE  were  all  silent  for  some  minutes,  till, 
being  well  shaken  into  our  several 
seats,  I  opened  my  mouth  first,  and 
related  what  had  happened  to  me 
after  our  separation  in  the  city  we  had  just  left. 
The  rest  of  the  company,  except  the  grave  female 
spirit  whom  our  reader  may  remember  to  have  re- 
fused giving  an  account  of  the  distemper  which 
occasioned  her  dissolution,  did  the  same.  It  might 
be  tedious  to  relate  these  at  large ;  we  shall  there- 
fore only  mention  a  very  remarkable  inveteracy 
which  the  Surfeit  declared  to  all  the  other  diseases, 
especially  to  the  Fever,  who,  she  said,  by  the  roguery 
of  the  porters,  received  acknowledgments  from  num- 
berless passengers  which  were  due  to  herself.  "  In- 
deed," says  she,  "  those  cane-headed  fellows ""  (for  so 
she  called  them,  alluding,  I  suppose,  to  their  ticket) 
"  are  constantly  making  such  mistakes  ;  there  is  no 
gratitude  in  those  fellows ;  for  I  am  sure  they  have 
greater  obligations  to  me  than  to  any  other  disease, 
except  the  Vapours."  These  relations  were  no  sooner 
over  than  one  of  the  company  informed  us  we  were 
approaching  to  the  most  noble  building  he  had  ever 

[26] 


THE    PALACE    OF    DEATH 

beheld,  and  which  we  learnt  from  our  coachman  was 
the  palace  of  Death.  Its  outside,  indeed,  appeared 
extremely  magnificent.  Its  structure  was  of  tlie 
Gothic  order  ;  vast  beyond  imagination,  the  whole 
pile  consisting  of  black  marble.  Rows  of  immense 
yews  form  an  amphitheatre  round  it  of  such  height 
and  thickness  that  no  ray  of  the  sun  ever  perforates 
this  grove,  where  black  eternal  darkness  would  reign 
was  it  not  excluded  by  innumerable  lamps  which  ai-e 
placed  in  pyramids  round  the  grove  ;  so  that  the 
distant  reflection  they  cast  on  the  palace,  which  is 
plentifully  gilt  with  gold  on  the  outside,  is  incon- 
ceivably solemn.  To  this  I  may  add  the  hollow- 
murmur  of  winds  constantly  heard  from  the  grove, 
and  the  very  remote  sound  of  roaring  waters.  Indeed, 
every  circumstance  seems  to  conspire  to  fill  the  mind 
with  horrour  and  consternation  as  we  approach  to  this 
palace,  which  we  had  scarce  time  to  admire  before 
our  vehicle  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  we  were  desired 
to  alight  in  order  to  pay  our  respects  to  his  most 
mortal  majesty  (this  being  the  title  which  it  seems  he 
assumes).  The  outward  court  was  full  of  soldiers, 
and,  indeed,  the  whole  very  much  resembled  the  state 
of  an  earthly  monarch,  only  more  magnificent.  We 
past  through  several  courts  into  a  vast  hall,  which 
led  to  a  spacious  staircase,  at  the  bottom  of  which 
stood  two  pages,  with  very  grave  countenances,  whom 
I  recollected  afterwards  to  have  formerly  been  verv 
eminent  undertakers,  and  were  in  reality  the  only 
disnjal  faces  I  saw  here ;  for  this  palace,  so  awful  and 
tremendous  without,  is  all  gay  and  sprightl}^  within  ; 
so  that  we  soon  lost  all  those  dismal  and  gloomy  ideas 

[27] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

we  had  contracted  in  approacliing  it.  Indeed,  the 
still  silence  maintained  among  the  guards  and  attend- 
ants resembled  rather  the  stately  pomp  of  eastern 
courts ;  but  there  was  on  every  face  such  symptoms 
of  content  and  happiness  that  diffused  an  air  of 
chearfulness  all  round.  We  ascended  the  staii'case 
and  past  through  many  noble  apartments  whose 
walls  were  adorned  with  various  battle-pieces  in 
tapistry,  and  which  we  spent  some  time  in  observing. 
These  brought  to  my  mind  those  beautiful  ones 
I  had  in  my  lifetime  seen  at  Blenheim,  nor  could  I 
prevent  my  curiosity  from  enquiring  where  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough's  victories  were  placed  (for  I  think 
they  were  almost  the  only  battles  of  any  eminence 
I  had  read  of  which  I  did  not  meet  with) ;  when  the 
skeleton  of  a  beef-eater,  shaking  his  head,  told  me  a 
certain  gentleman,  one  Lewis  XIV.,  who  had  great 
interest  with  his  most  mortal  majesty,  had  prevented 
any  such  from  being  hung  up  there.  "  Besides,""  says 
he,  "  his  majesty  hath  no  great  respect  for  that  duke, 
for  he  never  sent  him  a  subject  he  could  keep  from 
him,  nor  did  he  ever  get  a  single  subject  by  his  means 
but  he  lost  1000  otliers  for  "him."  We  found  the 
presence-chamber  at  our  entrance  very  full,  and  a  buz 
ran  through  it,  as  in  all  assemblies,  before  the  principal 
figure  enters  ;  for  his  majesty  was  not  yet  come  out. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  room  were  two  persons  in  close 
conference,  one  with  a  square  black  cap  on  his  head, 
and  the  other  with  a  robe  embroidered  with  flames 
of  fire.  These,  I  was  informed,  were  a  judge  long 
since  dead,  and  an  inquisitor-general.  I  overheard 
them  disputing  with  great  eagerness  whether  the  one 

[28] 


IN    THE    PRESENCE-CHAMBER 

had  hanged  or  the  other  burnt  the  most.  While  I 
was  hstening  to  this  dispute,  which  seemed  to  be  in 
no  likehhood  of  a  speedy  decision,  the  emperor  entered 
the  room  and  placed  himself  between  two  figures,  one 
of  which  was  remarkable  for  the  roughness,  and  the 
other  for  the  beauty  of  his  appearance.  These  were, 
it  seems,  Charles  XH.  of  Sweden  and  Alexander  of 
Macedon.  I  was  at  too  great  a  distance  to  hear  any 
of  the  conversation,  so  could  only  satisfy  my  curiosity 
by  contemplating  the  several  personages  present,  of 
whose  names  I  informed  myself  by  a  page,  who  looked 
as  pale  and  meagre  as  any  court-page  in  the  other 
world,  but  was  somewhat  more  modest.  He  shewed 
me  here  two  or  three  Turkish  emperors,  to  whom 
his  most  mortal  majesty  seemed  to  express  much 
civility.  Here  were  likewise  several  of  the  Roman 
emperors,  among  whom  none  seemed  so  much  caressed 
as  Caligula,  on  account,  as  the  page  told  me,  of 
his  pious  wish  that  he  could  send  all  the  Romans 
hither  at  one  blow.  The  reader  may  be  perhaps 
surprized  that  I  saw  no  physicians  here ;  as  indeed 
I  was  myself,  till  informed  that  they  were  all  de- 
parted to  the  city  of  Diseases,  where  they  were  busy 
in  an  experiment  to  purge  away  the  innnortality  of 
the  soul. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  recollect  the  many  indi- 
viduals I  saw  here,  but  I  cannot  omit  a  fat  figure, 
well  drest  in  the  French  fashion,  who  was  received 
with  extraordinary  complacence  by  the  emperor,  and 
whom  I  imagined  to  be  Lewis  XIV'.  himself;  but  the 
page  ac([uainted  me  he  was  a  celebrated  French  cook. 

We  were  at  length  introduced  to  the  royal  pres- 

[29] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

ence,  and  had  the  honour  to  kiss  hands.  His  majesty 
asked  us  a  few  questions,  not  very  material  to  relate, 
and  soon  after  retired. 

When  we  returned  into  the  yard  we  found  our 
caravan  ready  to  set  out,  at  which  we  all  declared 
ourselves  well  pleased  ;  for  we  were  sufficiently  tired 
with  the  formality  of  a  court,  notwithstanding  its 
outward  splendour  and  magnificence. 


[30] 


CHAPTER   FIVE 

THE  TRAVELLERS  PROCEED  ON  THEIR  JOURNEY,  AND 
MEET  SEVERAL  SPIRITS  WHO  ARE  COMING  INTO 
THE    FLESH. 

WE  now  came  to  the  banks  of  the  great 
river  Cocytus,  where  we  quitted  our 
vehicle,  and  past  the  water  in  a  boat, 
after  which  we  were  obhged  to  travel 
on  foot  the  rest  of  our  journey  ;  and  now  we  met, 
for  the  first  time,  several  passengers  travelling  to  the 
world  we  had  left,  who. informed  us  they  were  souls 
going  into  the  flesh. 

The  two  first  we  met  were  walking  arm-in-arm,  in 
very  close  and  friendly  conference;  they  informed  us 
that  one  of  them  was  intended  for  a  duke,  and  the 
other  for  a  hackney-coachman.  As  we  had  not  yet 
arrived  at  the  place  where  we  were  to  deposit  our 
passions,  we  were  all  surprized  at  the  familiaritv 
which  subsisted  between  persons  of  such  different 
degrees  ;  nor  could  the  grave  lady  help  expressing 
her  astonishment  at  it.  The  future  coachman  then 
replied,  with  a  laugli,  that  they  had  exchanged  lots ; 
for  that  the  duke  had  with  his  dukedom  drawn  a 
shrew  for  a  wife,  and  the  coachman  only  a  single 
state. 

As  we  proceeded  on  our  journey  we  met  a  solenni 
spirit  walking  alone  with  great  gravity  in  his  coun- 

[31] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

tenance :  our  curiosity  invited  us,  notwithstanding 
his  reserve,  to  ask  what  lot  he  had  drawn.  He  an- 
swered, with  a  smile,  he  was  to  have  the  reputation 
of  a  wise  man  with  i^lOO,000  in  his  pocket,  and  was 
practising  the  solemnity  which  he  was  to  act  in  the 
other  world. 

A  little  farther  we  met  a  company  of  very  merry 
spirits,  whom  we  imagined  by  their  mirth  to  have 
drawn  some  mighty  lot,  but,  on  enquiry,  they  in- 
formed us  they  were  to  be  beggars. 

The  farther  we  advanced,  the  greater  numbers  we 
met ;  and  now  we  discovered  two  large  roads  leading 
different  ways,  and  of  very  different  appearance ;  the 
one  all  craggy  with  rocks,  full  as  it  seemed  of  boggy 
grounds,  and  everywhere  beset  with  briars,  so  that 
it  was  impossible  to  pass  through  it  without  the 
utmost  danger  and  difficulty ;  the  other,  the  most 
delightful  iniaginable,  leading  through  the  most  ver- 
dant meadows,  painted  and  perfumed  with  all  kinds 
of  beautiful  flowers ;  in  short,  the  most  wanton  im- 
agination could  imagine  nothing  more  lovely.  Not- 
withstanding which,  we  were  surprized  to  see  great 
numbers  crowding  into  the  former,  and  only  one  or 
two  solitary  spirits  chusing  the  latter.  On  enquiry, 
we  were  acquainted  that  the  bad  road  was  the  way 
to  greatness,  and  the  other  to  goodness.  When  we 
expressed  our  surprize  at  the  preference  given  to  the 
former  we  were  acquainted  that  it  was  chosen  for 
the  sake  of  the  music  of  drums  and  trumpets,  and  the 
perpetual  acclamations  of  the  mob,  with  which  those 
who  travelled  this  way  were  constantly  saluted.  We 
were  told  likewise  that  there  were  several  noble  pal- 

[82] 


AN    ABUSED    SPIRIT 

aces  to  be  seen,  and  lodged  in,  on  this  road,  by  those 
who  had  past  through  the  difficulties  of  it  (which 
indeed  many  were  not  able  to  surmount),  and  great 
quantities  of  all  sorts  of  treasure  to  be  found  in  it ; 
whereas  the  other  had  little  inviting  more  than  the 
beauty  of  the  way,  scarce  a  handsome  building,  save 
one  greatly  resembling  a  certain  house  by  the  Bath,  to 
be  seen  during  that  whole  journey  ;  and,  lastly,  that 
it  was  thought  very  scandalous  and  mean-spirited  to 
travel  through  this,  and  as  highly  honourable  and 
noble  to  pass  by  the  other. 

We  now  heard  a  violent  noise,  when,  casting  our 
eyes  forwards,  we  perceived  a  vast  number  of  spirits 
advancing  in  pursuit  of  one  whom  they  mocked  and 
insulted  with  all  kinds  of  scorn.  I  cannot  give  my 
reader  a  more  adequate  idea  of  this  scene  than  by 
compai'ing  it  to  an  English  mob  conducting  a  pick- 
pocket to  the  water  ;  or  by  supposing  that  an  incensed 
audience  at  a  playhouse  had  unhappily  possessed 
themselves  of  the  miserable  damned  poet.  Some 
laughed,  some  hissed,  son)e  scjuawled,  some  groaned, 
some  bawled,  some  spit  at  him,  some  threw  dirt  at 
him.  It  was  impossible  not  to  ask  who  or  what  the 
wretched  spirit  wa.s  whom  they  treated  in  this  bar- 
barous manner ;  when,  to  our  great  surprize,  we 
were  informed  that  it  was  a  king :  we  were  like- 
wise told  that  this  manner  of  behaviour  was  usual 
among  the  spirits  to  those  who  drew  the  lots  of 
emperors,  kings,  and  other  great  men,  not  from  envy 
or  anger,  but  mere  derision  and  contempt  of  earthly 
gi'andeur;  that  nothing  was  more  common  than  for 
those  who  had  drawn  these  great  prizes  (as  to  us 
TOL.  I.— 3    .  [  ^^  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

tliey  seemed)  to  exchange  them  with  biyloj-s  and 
col)lei*s  ;  and  that  Alexander  tlie  Great  and  Diog- 
enes had  formerly  done  so  ;  he  that  was  afterwards 
Diogenes  having  originally  fallen  on  the  lot  of 
Alexander. 

And  now,  on  a  sudden,^  the  mockery  ceased,  and 
the  king-spirit,  having  obtained  a  hearing,  began  to 
speak  as  follows  ;  for  we  were  now  near  enough  to 
hear  him  distinctly:  — 

'"  Gentlemen,  —  I  am  justly  surprized  at  your  treating 
me  in  this  manner,  since  whatever  lot  I  have  drawn,  I 
did  not  chuse  :  if,  therefore,  it  be  worthy  of  derision, 
you  should  compassionate  me,  for  it  might  have  fallen 
to  any  of  your  shares.  I  know  in  how  low  a  light  the 
station  to  which  fate  hath  assigned  me  is  considered 
here,  and  that,  when  ambition  doth  not  support  it,  it 
becomes  generally  so  intollerable,  that  there  is  scarce 
any  other  condition  for  which  it  is  not  gladly  ex- 
changed :  for  what  portion,  in  the  world  to  which  we 
are  going,  is  so  miserable  as  that  of  care  ?  Should  I 
therefore  consider  myself  as  become  by  this  lot  essen- 
tially your  superior,  and  of  a  higher  order  of  being  than 
the  rest  of  my  fellow-creatures ;  should  I  foolishly 
imagine  myself  without  wisdom  superior  to  the  wise, 
without  knowledge  to  the  learned,  without  courage  to 
the  brave,  and  without  goodness  and  virtue  to  the  good 
and  virtuous  ;  surely  so  preposterous,  so  absurd  a  pride, 
Avould  justly  render  me  the  object  of  ridicule.  But 
far  be  it  from  me  to  entertain  it.  And  yet,  gentlemen, 
I  prize  the  lot  I  have  drawn,  nor  would  I  exchange 
it  with  any  of  yours,  seeing  it  is  in  my  eye  so  much 
greater  than  the  rest.  Ambition,  which  I  own  myself 
possest  of,  teaches   me    this  ;    ambition,  which   makes 

[34] 


THE    KIxNG'S    SPEECH 

me  covet  praise^  assures  me  that  I  shall  enjoy  a  much 
larger  proportion  of  it  than  can  fall  within  your  power 
either  to  deserve  or  obtain.  I  am  then  superior  to 
you  allj  when  I  am  able  to  do  more  good^  and  wlien 
I  execute  that  power.  What  the  fatlier  is  to  the  son, 
the  guardian  to  the  orphan,  or  the  patron  to  his  client, 
that  am  I  to  you.  You  are  my  children,  to  whom  I 
will  be  a  father,  a  guardian,  and  a  patron.  Not  one 
evening  in  my  long  reign  (for  so  it  is  to  be)  will  I 
repose  myself  to  rest  without  the  glorious,  the  heart- 
warming consideration,  that  thousands  that  nigjit  owe 
their  sweetest  rest  to  me.  What  a  delicious  fortune  is 
it  to  him  whose  strongest  appetite  is  doing  good,  to 
have  every  day  the  oppoi'tunity  and  the  power  of  satis- 
fying it  !  If  such  a  man  hath  ambition,  hov/  happy  is 
it  for  him  to  be  seated  so  on  high,  that  every  act  blazes 
abroad,  and  attracts  to  him  praises  tainted  with  neither 
sarcasm  nor  adulation,  but  such  as  the  nicest  and  most 
delicate  mind  may  relish  !  Thus,  therefore,  Avhile  j^ou 
derive  your  good  from  me,  I  am  your  superior.  If  to 
my  strict  distribution  of  justice  you  owe  the  safety  of 
your  property  from  domestic  enemies ;  if  by  my  vigi- 
lance and  valour  you  are  protected  from  foreign  foes ; 
if  by  my  encouragement  of  genuine  industry,  every 
science,  every  art  which  can  embellish  or  sweeten  life, 
is  produced  and  flourishes  among  you  ;  will  any  of  you 
be  so  insensible  or  ungrateful  as  to  deny  praise  and  re- 
spect to  him  by  whose  care  and  conduct  you  enjoy 
these  blessings  ?  I  wonder  not  at  the  censure  which  so 
frequently  falls  on  those  in  my  station  ;  but  I  wonder 
that  those  in  my  station  so  frequently  deserve  it.  What 
strange  perverseness  of  nature  !  What  wanton  delight 
in  mischief  must  taint  his  comjiosition,  avIui  prefers 
dangers,  difficulty,  and  disgrace,  by  doing  evil,  to  safety, 

[35] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

ease,  and  honour,  by  doing  good  !  who  refuses  happi- 
ness in  the  other  world,  and  heaven  in  this,  for  misery 
there  and  hell  here  !  But,  be  assured,  my  intentions 
are  different.  I  shall  always  endeavour  the  ease,  the 
happiness,  and  the  glory  of  my  people,  being  confident 
that,  by  so  doing,  I  take  the  most  certain  method  of 
procuring  them  all  to  myself." 

He  then  struck  directly  into  the  road  of  goodness, 
and  received  such  a  shout  of  applause  as  I  never 
remember  to  have  heard  equalled. 

Fie  was  gone  a  little  way  when  a  spirit  limped 
after  him,  swearing  he  would  fetch  him  back.  This 
spirit,  I  was  presently  informed,  was  one  who  had 
drawn  the  lot  of  his  prime  minister. 


[36] 


CHAPTER   SIX 

AN  ACCOUNT  OF  THE  WHEEL  OF  FORTUNE,  WITH  A 
METHOD  OF  PREPARING  A  SPIRIT  FOR  THIS 
WORLD. 

WE  now  proceeded  on  our  journey,  with- 
out staying  to  see  whether  he  ful- 
filled his  word  or  no ;  and  without 
encountering  anything  worth  men- 
tioning, came  to  the  place  where  the  spirits  on  their 
passage  to  the  other  world  were  obliged  to  decide  by 
lot  the  station  in  which  every  one  was  to  act  there. 
Here  was  a  monstrous  wheel,  infinitely  larger  than 
those  in  which  I  had  formerly  seen  lottery-tickets 
deposited.  This  was  called  the  Wheel  of  Fortune. 
The  goddess  herself  was  present.  She  was  one  of 
the  most  deformed  females  I  ever  beheld ;  nor  could 
I  help  observing  the  frowns  she  expressed  when  any 
beautiful  spirit  of  her  own  sex  passed  by  her,  nor  the 
affability  which  smiled  in  her  countenance  on  the 
approach  of  any  handsome  male  spirits.  Hence  I 
accounted  for  the  truth  of  an  observation  I  had  often 
made  on  earth,  that  nothing  is  more  fortunate  tlian 
handsome  men,  nor  more  unfortunate  than  handsome 
women.  The  reader  may  be  perhaps  pleased  with 
aa  account  of  the  whole  method  of  equi})ping  a  spirit 
for  his  entrance  into  the  flesh. 

[37] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

First,  then,  he  receives  from  a  very  sage  person, 
whose  look  iniich  resembled  that  of  an  apothecary 
(his  warehouse  likewise  bearing  an  affim'tv  to  an 
apothecary's  shop),  a  small  pliial  inscribed,  The 
Pathetic  Potion,  to  be  taken  just  before  yon  are 
born.  This  potion  is  a  mixture  of  all  the  passions, 
but  in  no  exact  proportion,  so  that  sometimes  one 
predominates,  and  sometimes  another ;  nay,  often  in 
the  hurry  of  making  up,  one  particular  ingredient  is, 
as  we  were  informed,  left  out.  The  spirit  receiveth 
at  the  same  time  another  medicine  called  the  Nous- 
PHORic  Decoction,  of  which  he  is  to  drink  ad  libitum. 
This  decoction  is  an  extract  from  the  faculties  of  the 
mind,  sometimes  extremely  strong  and  spirituous, 
and  sometimes  altogether  as  weak  ;  for  very  little 
care  is  taken  in  the  preparation.  This  decoction  is 
so  extremely  bitter  and  unpleasant,  that,  notwith- 
standing its  wholesomeness,  several  spirits  will  not 
be  persuaded  to  swallow  a  drop  of  it,  but  throw  it 
away,  or  give  it  to  any  other  who  will  receive  it ;  by 
which  means  some  who  were  not  disgusted  by  the 
nauseousness  drank  double  and  treble  portions.  I 
observed  a  beautiful  young  female,  who,  tasting  it 
immediately  from  curiosity,  screwed  up  her  face  and 
cast  it  from  her  with  great  disdain,  whence  advanc- 
ing presently  to  the  wheel,  she  drew  a  coronet,  which 
she  clapped  up  so  eagerly  that  I  could  not  distin- 
guish the  degree  ;  and  indeed  I  observed  several  of 
the  same  sex,  after  a  very  small  sip,  throw  the 
bottles  away. 

As  soon  as  the  spirit  is  dismissed  by  the  operator, 
or  apothecary,  he  is  at  liberty  to  approach  the  wheel, 

[38] 


THE    WHEEL    OF    FORTUNE 

where  he  hath  a  right  to  extract  a  single  lot  :  but 
those  whom  Fortune  favours  she  permits  sometimes 
secretly  to  draw  tliree  or  four.  I  observed  a  comical 
kind  of  figure  who  drew  forth  a  handful,  which,  when 
he  opened,  were  a  bishop,  a  general,  a  privy-counsel- 
lor, a  player,  and  a  poet-laureate,  and,  returning  the 
three  first,  he  walked  off,  smiling,  with  the  two  last. 

Every  single  lot  contained  two  more  articles,  which 
were  generally  disposed  so  as  to  render  the  lots  as 
equal  as  possible  to  each  other ;  on  one  was  written, 
earl,  richci,  health,  disquietude  ,•  on  another,  cobble/; 
sickness,  good-humour;  on  a  third,  poet,  contempt, 
self-satisfaction ;  on  a  fourth,  general,  horwur,  dis- 
content ;  on  a  fifth,  cottage,  happy  love ;  on  a  sixth, 
coach  and  six,  impotent  jealous  husband ;  on  a  seventh, 
prime  minister,  disgrace ;  on  an  eighth,  patriot,  glory ; 
on  a  ninth,  philosopher,  poverty,  ease  ;  on  a  tenth, 
merchant,  riches,  care.  And  indeed  the  whole  seemed 
to  contain  such  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil,  that  it 
would  have  puzzled  me  which  to  chuse.  I  must  not 
omit  here  that  in  every  lot  was  directed  whether 
the  drawer  should  mairy  or  remain  in  celibacy,  the 
married  lots  being  all  marked  with  a  large  pair  of 
horns. 

We  were  obliged,  before  we  quitted  this  place,  to 
take  each  of  us  an  emetic  from  the  apothecary,  which 
innnediately  purged  us  of  all  our  earthly  passions, 
and  presently  the  cloud  forsook  our  eyes,  as  it  doth 
those  of  yEneas  in  \  irgil,  when  removed  by  Venus; 
and  we  discerned  things  in  a  much  clearer  light  than 
before.  We  began  to  compassionate  those  spirits 
who  were  making  their  entry  into  the  fles!i,  wliom 

[  ^9  ]' 


THIS    AVORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

we  had  till  then  secretly  envied,  and  to  long  cagerl}' 
for  those  delightful  plains  which  now  opened  them- 
selves to  our  eyes,  and  to  which  we  now  hastened 
with  the  utmost  eagerness.  On  our  way  we  met 
with  several  spirits  with  very  dejected  countenances  , 
but  our  expedition  would  not  suffer  us  to  ask  any 
questions. 

At  length  we  an'ived  at  the  gate  of  Elysium. 
Here  was  a  prodigious  crowd  of  spirits  waiting  for 
admittance,  some  of  whom  were  admitted,  and  some 
were  rejected  ;  for  all  were  strictly  examined  by  the 
porter,  whon)  I  soon  discovered  to  be  the  celebrated 
judge  Minos. 


[40] 


CHAPTER   SEVEN 

THE    PROCEEDINGS     OF    JUDGE     MINOS    AT   THE    GATE    OF 

ELYSIUM. 

I  NOW  got  near  enough  to  the  gate  to  hear 
the  several  claims  of  those  who  endeavoured 
to  pass.  The  first,  among  other  pretensions, 
set  forth  that  he  had  been  very  liberal  to  an 
hospital ;  but  Minos  answered,  "  Ostentation,""  and 
repulsed  him.  The  second  exhibited  that  he  had 
constantly  frequented  his  church,  been  a  rigid  ob- 
server of  fast-days  :  he  liicewise  represented  the  great 
animosity  he  had  shewn  to  vice  in  others,  which 
never  escaped  his  severest  censure  ;  and  as  to  his 
own  behaviour,  he  had  never  been  once  guilty  of 
whoring,  drinking,  gluttony,  or  any  other  excess. 
He  said  he  had  disinherited  his  son  for  getting  a 
bastard.  "Have  vou  so?"  said  Minos;  "then 
pray  return  into  the  other  world  and  beget  another ; 
for  such  an  unnatural  rascal  shall  never  pass  this 
gate."  A  dozen  others,  who  had  advanced  with  very 
confident  countenances,  seeing  him  rejected,  turned 
about  of  their  own  accord,  declaring,  if  he  could  not 
j)ass,  they  had  no  expectation,  and  accordingly  they 
followed  him  back  to  earth  ;  which  was  the  fate  of 
all  who  were  repulsed,  they  being  obliged  to  take  a 
further  purification,  unless  those  who  w^ere  guilty  of 

[41] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

some  very  heinous  crimes,  who  were  hustled  in  at  a 
httle  back  gate,  whence  they  tumbled  immediately 
into  the  bottomless  pit. 

The  next  spirit  that  came  up  declared  he  had 
done  neither  good  nor  evil  in  the  woild  ;  for  that 
since  his  arrival  at  man's  estate  he  had  spent  his 
whole  time  in  search  of  curiosities  ;  and  particularly 
in  the  study  of  butterflies,  of  which  he  had  collected 
an  immense  number.  Minos  made  him  no  answer, 
but  with  great  scorn  pushed  him  back. 

Thei-e  now  advanced  a  veiy  beautiful  spirit  indeed. 
She  began  to  ogle  Minos  the  moment  she  saw  him. 
She  said  she  hoped  there  w-as  some  merit  in  refusing 
a  great  number  of  lovers,  and  dying  a  maid,  though 
she  had  had  the  choice  of  a  hundred.  Minos  told 
her  she  had  not  refused  enow  yet,  and  turned  her 
back. 

She  was  succeeded  by  a  spirit  who  told  the  judge 
he  believed  his  works  would  speak  for  him.  "What 
works  ?  ■"  answered  Minos.  "  My  dramatic  works," 
replied  the  othei-,  "  which  have  done  so  much  good 
in  recommending  virtue  and  punishing  vice."  "  Very 
well,"  said  the  judge  ;  "  if  you  please  to  stand  by,  the 
first  person  who  passes  the  gate  by  your  means  shall 
carry  you  in  with  him  ;  but,  if  you  will  take  my 
advice,  I  think,  for  expedition  sake,  you  had  better 
retuin,  and  live  another  life  upon  earth."  The  bard 
grumbled  at  this,  and  replied  that,  besides  his  poeti- 
cal works,  he  had  done  some  other  good  things  : 
for  that  he  had  once  lent  the  whole  profits  of  a 
benefit-night  to  a  friend,  and  by  that  means  had 
saved  him  and  his  family  from  destruction.     Upon 

[42] 


AT    THE    GATE    OF    ELYSIUM 

this  the  gate  flew  open,  and  Minos  desired  him  to 
walk  in,  telhng  him,  if  he  had  mentioned  this  at 
first,  he  might  have  spared  the  remembi-ance  of  his 
plays.  The  poet  answered,  he  believed,  if  Minos 
had  read  his  works,  he  would  set  a  higher  value  on 
them.  He  was  then  beginning  to  repeat,  but  Minos 
pushed  him  forward,  and,  turning  his  back  to  him, 
applied  himself  to  the  next  passenger,  a  very  genteel 
spirit,  who  made  a  very  low  bow  to  Minos,  and  then 
threw  himself  into  an  erect  attitude,  and  imitated 
the  motion  of  taking  snuff  with  his  right  hand. 
Minos  asked  him  what  he  had  to  sav  for  himself. 
He  answered,  he  would  dance  a  minuet  with  any 
spirit  in  Elysium  :  that  he  could  likewise  perform 
all  his  other  exercises  very  well,  and  hoped  he  had 
in  his  life  deserved  the  character  of  a  perfect  fine 
gentleman.  Minos  replied  it  would  be  great  pity  to 
rob  the  world  of  so  fine  a  gentleman,  and  therefore 
desired  him  to  take  the  other  trip.  The  beau 
bowed,  thanked  the  judge,  and  said  he  desired  no 
better.  Several  spirits  expressed  much  astonish- 
ment at  this  his  satisfaction  ;  but  we  were  after- 
wards informed  he  had  not  taken  the  emetic  above 
mentioned. 

A  miserable  old  spirit  now  crawled  forwards,  whose 
face  I  thought  I  had  formerly  seen  near  Westminster 
Abbey.  He  entertained  Minos  with  a  long  harangue 
of  what  he  had  done  wlien  in  the  house  ;  and  then 
proceeded  to  inform  him  how  much  he  was  worth, 
without  attempting  to  produce  a  single  instance  of 
any  one  good  action.  Minos  stopt  the  career  of  his 
discourse,  and  acquainted  him  he  must  take  a  trip 

[43] 


THIS    WOULD    TO    THE    NEXT 

back  again.     "  \Miat !   to  S house  ? ''  said  the 

spirit  in  an  ecstasy ;  but  the  judge,  without  making 
him  any  answer,  turned  to  another,  who,  with  a  very 
solemn  air  and  great  dignity,  acquainted  him  he  was 
a  duke.  "To  the  right-about,  Mr.  Duke,"  cried 
Minos,  "  you  are  infinitely  too  great  a  man  for  Ely- 
sium ; "  and  then,  giving  him  a  kick  on  the  b — ch, 
he  addressed  himself  to  a  spirit  who,  with  fear  and 
trembling,  begged  he  might  not  go  to  the  bottomless 
pit :  he  said  he  hoped  Minos  would  consider  that, 
though  he  had  gone  astray,  he  had  sufFei'ed  for  it  — • 
that  it  was  necessity  which  drove  him  to  the  robbery 
of  eighteen  pence,  which  he  had  committed,  and  for 
Avhich  he  was  hanged  —  that  he  had  done  some  good 
actions  in  his  life  —  that  he  had  supported  an  aged 
parent  with  his  labour  —  that  he  had  been  a  very 
tender  husband  and  a  kind  father  —  and  that  he  had 
ruined  himself  by  being  bail  for  his  friend.  At 
which  words  the  gate  opened,  and  Minos  bid  him 
enter,  giving  him  a  slap  on  the  back  as  he  passed 
by  him. 

A  great  number  of  spirits  now  came  forwards,  who 
all  declared  they  had  the  same  claim,  and  that  the 
captain  should  speak  for  them.  He  acquainted  the 
judge  that  they  had  been  all  slain  in  the  service  of 
their  country.  Minos  was  going  to  admit  them,  but 
had  the  curiosity  to  ask  who  had  been  the  invader,  in 
order,  as  he  said,  to  prepare  the  back  gate  for  him. 
The  captain  answered  they  had  been  the  invaders 
themselves  —  that  they  had  entered  the  enemy's  coun- 
tiy,  and  burnt  and  plundered  several  cities.  "And 
for  wUal^  teason?  '"■  said  Minos.     "By  the  commaud 

[  4.4  ] 


CLAIMANTS    FOR    ADMISSION 

of  him  who  paid  us,"  said  the  captain  ;  "that  is  the 
reason  of  a  soldier.  We  are  to  execute  whatever  we 
are  commanded,  or  we  should  be  a  disgrace  to  the 
army,  and  very  little  deserve  our  pay."  "You  are 
brave  fellows  indeed,"  said  Minos ;  "  but  be  pleased 
to  face  about,  and  obey  my  command  for  once,  in 
returning  back  to  the  other  world  :  for  what  should 
such  fellows  as  you  do  where  there  are  no  cities  to 
be  burnt,  nor  people  to  be  destroyed  ?  But  let  me 
advise  you  to  have  a  stricter  regard  to  truth  for  the 
future,  and  not  call  the  depopulating  other  countries 
the  service  of  vour  own."  The  captain  answered,  in 
a  rage,  "D — n  me!  do  you  give  me  the  lie.?"  and 
w^as  going  to  take  Minos  by  the  nose,  had  not  his 
guards  prevented  him,  and  immediately  turned  him 
and  all  his  followers  back  the  same  road  they 
came. 

Four  spirits  informed  the  judge  that  they  had  been 
starved  to  death  through  poverty  —  being  the  father, 
mother,  and  two  children  ;  that  they  had  been  hon- 
est and  as  industrious  as  possible,  till  sickness  had 
prevented  the  man  from  labour.  "  All  that  is  very 
true,"  cried  a  grave  spirit  who  stood  by.  "  I  know 
the  fact ;  for  these  poor  people  were  under  my  cure." 
"  You  was,  I  suppose,  the  parson  of  the  parish,"  cries 
Minos  ;  "  I  hope  you  had  a  good  living,  sir."  "  That 
-was  but  a  small  one,"  replied  the  spirit ;  "but  I  had 
another  a  little  better."  —  "  Very  well,"  said  Minos ; 
"let  the  poor  people  pass."  At  which  the  parson 
was  stepping  forwards  with  a  stately  gait  before 
them;  but  Minos  caught  hold  of  him  and  pulled 
him  back,  saying,  "Not  so  fast,  doctor  — you  must 

[45] 


THIS    WOliLiJ    TO    THE    NEXT 

i.ike  one  step  more  into  the  other  world  first ;  for  no 
man  enters  that  <^ate  without  charity.'' 

A  very  stately  figure  now  presented  himself,  and, 
informing  Minos  he  was  a  patriot,  began  a  verv  florid 
harangue  on  public  virtue  and  the  liberties  of  his 
country.  Upon  which  Minos  shewed  him  the  utmost 
respect,  and  ordered  the  gate  to  be  opened.  The 
patriot  was  not  contented  with  this  applause ;  he 
said  he  had  behaved  as  well  in  place  as  he  had  done 
in  the  opposition  ;  and  that,  though  he  was  now 
obliged  to  embrace  the  court  measures,  yet  he  had 
behaved  very  honestly  to  his  friends,  and  brought  as 
many  in  as  was  possible.  "  Hold  a  moment,"  says 
Minos :  "  on  second  consideration,  Mr.  Patriot,  I 
think  a  man  of  your  great  virtue  and  abilities  will 
be  so  much  missed  by  your  country,  that,  if  I  might 
advise  you,  you  should  take  a  journey  back  again.  I 
am  sure  you  will  not  decline  it ;  for  I  am  certain  you 
will,  with  great  readiness,  sacrifice  your  own  happi- 
ness to  the  public  good."  The  patriot  snu'led,  and 
told  Minos  he  believed  he  was  in  jest;  and  was  offer- 
ing to  enter  the  gate,  but  the  judge  laid  fast  hold  of 
him  and  insisted  on  his  return,  which  the  patriot  still 
declining,  he  at  last  ordered  his  guards  to  seize  him 
and  conduct  him  back. 

A  spirit  now  advanced,  and  the  gate  was  immedi- 
ately thrown  open  to  him  before  he  had  spoken  a 
word.  I  heard  some  whisper,  "  That  is  our  last  lord 
mayor." 

It  now  came  to  our  company's  turn.  The  fair 
spirit  which  I  mentioned  with  so  much  applause  in 
the  beginning  of  my  journey  passed  through  very 

[46] 


ENTRANCE    TO    ELYSIUM 

easily ;  but  the  grave  lady  was  rejected  on  her  first 
appearance,  Minos  declaring  there  was  not  a  single 
prude  in  Elysium. 

The  judge  then  addressed  himself  to  me,  who  little 
expected  to  pass  this  fiery  trial.  I  confessed  I  had 
indulged  myself  very  freely  with  wine  and  women  in 
my  youth,  but  had  never  done  an  injury  to  any  man 
living,  nor  avoided  an  opportunity  of  doing  good ; 
that  I  pretended  to  very  little  virtue  more  than  gen- 
eral philanthropy  and  private  friendship.  I  was  pro- 
ceeding, when  Minos  bid  me  enter  the  gate,  and  not 
indulge  myself  with  trumpeting  forth  my  virtues.  I 
accordingly  passed  forward  with  my  lovely  compan- 
ion, and,  embracing  her  with  vast  eagerness,  but  spir- 
itual innocence,  she  returned  my  embrace  in  the  same 
manner,  and  we  both  congratulated  ourselves  on  our 
arrival  in  this  happy  region,  whose  beauty  no  paint- 
ing of  the  imagination  can  describe. 


[47] 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THE    ADVENTURES  WHICH  THE  AUl-HOR  MET  ON   HIS  FIRST 
ENTRANCE  INTO  ELYSIUM. 

WE  pursued  our  way  through  a  dehcious 
grove  of  orange-trees,  where  I  saw  in- 
finite numbers  of  spirits,  every  one  of 
whom  I  knew,  and  was  known  by  them 
(for  spirits  here  know  one  another  by  intuition).  I 
presently  met  a  Httle  daughter  whom  I  had  lost  sev- 
eral years  before.  Good  gods !  what  words  can 
describe  the  raptures,  the  melting  passionate  tender- 
neSvS,  with  which  we  kissed  each  other,  continuing  in 
our  embrace,  with  the  most  ecstatic  joy,  a  space 
which,  if  time  had  been  measured  here  as  on  earth, 
could  not  be  less  than  half  a  year. 

The  first  spirit  with  whom  I  entered  into  dis- 
course was  the  famous  Leonidas  of  Sparta.  I  ac- 
quainted him  with  tlie  honours  which  had  been  done 
him  by  a  celebrated  poet  of  our  nation  ;  to  which  he 
answered  he  was  very  much  obliged  to  him. 

We  were  presently  afterwards  entertained  with  the 
most  delicious  voice  I  had  ever  heard,  accompanied 
by  a  violin,  equal  to  Signior  Piantinida.  I  presently 
discovered  the  musician  and  songster  to  be  Orpheus 
and  Sappho. 

Old  Homer  was  present  at  this  concert  (if  I  may 
so  call  it),  and  Madam  Dacier  sat  in  his  lap.     He 

[48] 


FIRST    ADVENTURES 

asked  much  after  Mr.  Pope,  and  said  he  was  very 
desirous  of  seeing  him  ;  for  that  lie  had  read  his  IHad 
in  his  translation  with  ahnost  as  much  dehght  as  he 
beheved  he  had  given  others  in  the  original.  I  had 
the  curiosity  to  enquire  whether  he  had  really  writ 
that  poem  in  detached  pieces,  and  simg  it  about 
as  ballads  all  over  Greece,  according  to  the  report 
which  went  of  him.  He  smiled  at  my  question,  and 
asked  me  whether  there  appeared  any  connexion  in 
the  poem  ;  for  if  there  did  he  thought  I  might 
answer  mvself.  I  then  importuned  him  to  acquaint 
me  in  which  of  the  cities  which  contended  for  the 
honour  of  his  b.rth  he  was  really  born  ?  To  which 
he  answered,  "Upon  my  soul  I  can't  tell.'*' 

Virgil  then  came  np  to  me,  with  Mr.  Addison 
under  his  arm.  '*  Well,  sir,"  said  he,  "  how  many 
translations  have  these  te^v  last  years  produced  of  my 
^neid  ?""  I  told  him  I  beheved  several,  but  I  could 
not  possibly  remember  ;  for  that  I  had  never  read 
any  but  Dr.  Trapp's.  "  Ay,""  said  he,  *'  that  is  a 
curious  piece  indeed  !  "  I  then  acquainted  him  with 
the  discovery  made  by  Mr.  Warburton  of  the  Elu- 
sinian  mysteries  couched  in  his  sixth  book.  "  What 
mysteries  ?  "  said  Mr.  Addison.  "  The  Elusinian," 
answered  Virgil,  "  which  I  have  disclosed  in  my  sixth 
book."  "  How  !  "  replied  Addison.  "  You  never 
mentioned  a  word  of  any  such  mysteries  to  me  in  all 
our  acquaintance."  "  I  thouglit  it  was  unnecessary," 
cried  the  other,  "  to  a  man  of  your  infinite  learning  : 
besides,  you  always  told  me  you  perfectly  understood 
my  meaning."  Upon  this  I  thought  the  critic 
looked  a  little  out  of  countenance,  and  turned  aside 
TOL.  I.— 4  [  *9  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

to  a  very  merry  spirit,  one  Dick  Steele,  who  e/n- 
braced  him,  and  told  him  he  had  been  the  greatest 
man  upon  earth  ;  that  he  readily  resigned  up  all  the 
merit  of  his  own  works  to  him.  Upon  which  Addi- 
son gave  him  a  gracious  smile,  and,  clapping  him  on 
the  back  with  much  solemnity,  cried  out,  "Well 
said,  Dick  ! " 

I  then  observed  Shakspeare  standing  between  Bet- 
terton  and  Booth,  and  deciding  a  difference  between 
those  two  great  actors  concerning  the  placing  an 
accent  in  one  of  his  lines  :  this  was  disputed  on  both 
sides  with  a  warmth  which  surprized  me  in  Elysium, 
till  I  discovered  by  intuition  that  every  soul  re- 
tained its  principal  characteristic,  being,  indeed,  its 
very  essence.  The  line  was  that  celebrated  one  in 
Othello  — 

Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  light. 

according  to  Betterton.  Mr.  Booth  contended  to 
have  it  thus  :  — 

Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  the  light. 

I  could  not  help  offering  mv  conjecture  on  this  occa- 
sion, and  suggested  it  might  perhaps  be  — 

Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  thy  light. 

Another  hinted  a  reading  very  sophisticated  in  my 
opinion  — 

Put  out  the  light,  and  then  put  out  thee,  light. 

making  light  to  be  the  vocative  case.  Another 
would  have  altered  the  last  w  ord,  and  read  — 

Put  out  thy  light,  and  then  put  out  thy  sight. 

.  [  50  ] 


A    TALK    WITH    SHAKSPEARE 

But  Betterton  said,  if  the  text  was  to  be  disturbed, 
he  saw  no  reason  why  a  word  might  not  be  changed 
as  well  as  a  letter,  and,  instead  of  "put  out  thy 
light,""  you  may  read  "  put  out  thy  eyes."  At  last  it 
was  as-reed  on  all  sides  to  refer  the  matter  to  the  de- 
cision  of  Shakspeare  himself,  who  delivered  his  senti- 
ments as  follows  :  "  Faith,  gentlemen,  it  is  so  long 
since  I  wrote  the  line,  I  have  forgot  my  meaning. 
This  I  know,  could  I  have  dreamt  so  much  nonsense 
Avould  have  been  talked  and  writ  about  it,  I  would 
have  blotted  it  out  of  my  works  ;  for  I  am  sure,  if 
any  of  these  be  my  meaning,  it  doth  me  very  little 
honour." 

He  was  then  interrogated  concerning  some  other 
ambiguous  passages  in  his  works  ;  but  he  declined  any 
satisfactory  answer  ;  saying,  if  Mr.  Theobald  had  not 
writ  about  it  sufficiently,  there  were  three  or  four 
more  new  editions  of  his  plays  coming  out,  which  he 
hoped  would  satisfy  every  one  :  concluding,  "  I  mar- 
vel nothing  so  much  as  that  men  will  gird  themselves 
at  discoveriny;  obscure  beauties  in  an  author.  Certes 
the  greatest  and  most  pregnant  beauties  are  ever  the 
plainest  and  most  evidently  striking ;  and  when  two 
meanings  of  a  passage  can  in  the  least  ballance  our 
judgments  which  to  prefei',  I  hold  it  matter  of  un- 
questionable certainty  that  neither  of  them  is  worth 
a  farthing." 

From  his  works  our  conversation  turned  on  his 
monument ;  upon  which,  Shakspeare,  shaking  his 
sides,  and  addressing  himself  to  Milton,  cried  out, 
"  On  my  word,  brother  Milton,  they  have  brought  a 

[51] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

noble  set  of  poets  together ;  they  would  have  been 
hanged  erst  have  [ere  they  had]  convened  such  a 
company  at  their  tables  when  alive."  "  True, 
brother,"  answered  Milton,  "  unless  we  had  been  as 
incapable  of  eating  then  as  we  are  now." 


t«»] 


CHAPTER   NINE 

MOEE    ADVENTURES    IN    ELYSIUM. 

A  CROWD  of  spirits  now  joined  us,  whom  I 
soon  perceived  to  be  the  heroes,  who 
here  frequently  pay  their  respects  to 
^  the  several  bards  the  recorders  of  their 
actions.  I  now  saw  Achilles  and  Ulysses  addressing 
themselves  to  Homer,  and  iEneas  and  Julius  Caesar 
to  Virgil :  Adam  went  up  to  Milton,  upon  which  I 
whispered  Mr.  Dryden  that  I  thought  the  devil  should 
have  paid  his  compliments  there,  according  to  his 
opinion.  Dryden  only  answered,  "  I  believe  the 
devil  was  in  me  when  I  said  so."  Several  applied 
themselves  to  Shakspeare,  amongst  whom  Henry  V. 
made  a  very  distinguishing  appearance.  While  my 
eyes  were  fixed  on  that  monarch  a  very  small  spirit 
came  up  to  me,  shook  me  heartily  by  the  hand,  and 
told  me  his  name  was  Thomas  Thumb.  I  expressed 
great  satisfaction  in  seeing  him,  nor  could  I  help 
speaking  my  resentment  against  the  historian,  who 
had  done  such  injustice  to  the  stature  of  this  great 
little  man,  which  he  represented  to  be  no  bigger  than 
a  span,  whereas  I  plainly  perceived  at  firet  sight  he 
■was  full  a  foot  and  a  half  (and  the  37th  part  of  an 
inch  more,  as  he  himself  informed  me),  being  indeed 
little  shorter  than  some  considerable  beaus  of  the 
present  age. 

[63] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

I  asked  this  little  hero  concerning  the  truth  of 
those  stones  related  of  him,  viz.,  of  the  pudding, 
and  the  cow's  belly.  As  to  the  former,  he  said  it 
was  a  ridiculous  legend,  worthy  to  be  laughed  at ; 
but  as  to  the  latter,  he  could  not  help  owning  there 
was  some  truth  in  it :  nor  had  he  any  reason  to  be 
ashamed  of  it,  as  he  was  swallowed  by  surpi-izo  ;  add- 
ing, with  great  fierceness,  that  if  he  had  had  any 
weapon  in  his  hand  the  cow  should  have  as  soon 
swallowed  the  devil. 

He  spoke  the  last  word  with  so  much  fury,  and 
seemed  so  confounded,  that,  perceiving  the  effect  it 
had  on  him,  I  immediately  waved  the  story,  and, 
passing  to  other  matters,  we  had  much  conversation 
touching  giants.  He  said,  so  far  from  killing  any, 
he  had  never  seen  one  alive  ;  that  he  believed  those 
actions  were  by  mistake  recorded  of  him,  instead  of 
Jack  the  giant-killer,  whom  he  knew  very  well,  and 
who  had,  he  fancied,  extirpated  the  race.  I  assured 
him  to  the  contrary,  and  told  him  I  had  myself  seen 
a  huge  tame  giant,  who  very  complacently  stayed  in 
London  a  whole  winter,  at  the  special  request  of 
several  gentlemen  and  ladies ;  though  the  affairs 
of  his   family  called  him   home  to  Sweden. 

I  now  beheld  a  stern-looking  spirit  leaning  on  the 
shoulder  of  another  spirit,  and  presently  discerned 
the  former  to  be  Oliver  Cromwell,  and  the  latter 
Charles  Martel.  I  own  I  was  a  little  surprized  at 
seeing  Cromwell  here,  for  I  had  been  taught  by  my 
grandmother  that  he  was  carried  away  by  the  devil 
himself  in  a  tempest ;  but  he  assured  me,  on  his 
honour,  there  was  not  the  least  truth  in  that  story. 

[54] 


OLIVER    CROMWELL 

However,  he  confessed  he  had  narrowly  escaped  the 
bottomless  pit ;  and,  if  the  former  part  of  his  con- 
duct had  not  been  more  to  his  honour  than  the  lat- 
ter, he  had  been  certainly  soused  into  it.  He  was, 
nevertheless,  sent  back  to  the  upper  world  with  this 
lot :  —  Army,  cavalier,  distress. 

He  was  born,  for  the  second  time,  the  day  of 
Charles  H.'s  restoration,  into  a  family  which  had 
lost  a  very  considerable  fortune  in  the  service  of  that 
prince  and  his  father,  for  which  they  received  the 
reward  very  often  conferred  by  princes  on  real  merit, 
viz.  — 000.  At  16  his  father  bought  a  small  com- 
mission for  him  in  the  army,  in  which  he  served 
without  any  promotion  all  the  reigns  of  Charles  H. 
and  of  his  brother.  At  the  Revolution  he  quitted 
his  regiment,  and  followed  the  fortunes  of  his  former 
master,  and  was  in  his  service  dangerously  wounded 
at  the  famous  battle  of  the  Boyne,  where  he  fought 
in  the  capacity  of  a  private  soldier.  He  recovered 
of  this  wound,  and  retired  after  the  unfortunate  king 
to  Paris,  where  he  was  reduced  to  support  a  wife 
and  seven  children  (for  his  lot  had  horns  in  it)  by 
cleaning  shoes  and  snuffing  candles  at  the  opera.  In 
which  situation,  after  he  had  spent  a  few  miserable 
years,  he  died  half-starved  and  broken-hearted.  He 
then  revisited  Minos,  who,  compassionating  his  suf- 
ferings by  means  of  that  family,  to  whom  he  had 
been  in  his  former  capacity  so  bitter  an  enemy, 
suffered  him  to  enter  here. 

My  curiosity  would  not  refrain  asking  him  one 
(juestion,  i.  e.,  whether  in  reality  he  had  any  desire 
to  obtain  the  crown  .?     He    smiled,  and  said,  "  No 

[55] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

more  than  an  ecclesiastic  hath  to  the  mitre,  when  he 
cries  Nolo  episcopari.''''  Indeed,  he  seemed  to  express 
some  contempt  at  the  question,  and  presently  turned 
away. 

A  venerable  spirit  appeared  next,  whom  I  found 
to  be  the  great  historian  Livy.  Alexander  the 
Great,  who  was  just  arrived  from  the  palace  of 
death,  past  by  him  with  a  frown.  The  historian, 
observing  it,  said,  "  Ay,  you  may  frown  ;  but  those 
troops  which  conquered  the  base  Asiatic  slaves  would 
have  made  no  figure  against  the  Romans."  We  then 
privately  lamented  the  loss  of  the  most  valuable 
part  of  his  history  ;  after  which  he  took  occasion 
to  commend  the  judicious  collection  made  by  Mr. 
Hook,  which,  he  said,  was  infinitely  preferable  to  all 
others ;  and  at  my  mentioning  Echard's  he  gave  a 
bounce,  not  unlike  the  going  off  of  a  squib,  and  was 
departing  from  me,  when  I  begged  him  to  satisfy 
my  curiosity  in  one  point  —  whether  he  was  really 
superstitious  or  no  ?  For  I  had  always  believed  he 
was  till  Mr.  Leibnitz  had  assured  me  to  the  con- 
trary. He  answered  sullenly,  "  Doth  Mr.  Leibnitz 
know  my  mind  better  than  myself?""  and  then 
walked  away. 


[56] 


CHAPTER  TEN 

THE  AriTHOR  IS  SURPRISED  AT  MEETING  JULIAN  THE 
APOSTATE  IN  ELYSIUM  ;  BUT  IS  SATISFIED  BY  HIM 
BY  WHAT  MEANS  HE  PROCURED  HIS  ENTRANCE 
THERE.  JULIAN  RELATES  HIS  ADVENTURES  IN 
THE    CHARACTER    OF    A    SLAVE. 

jA  S  he  was  departing  I  heard  him  salute  a 
/^  spirit  by  the  name  of  Mr.  JuHan  the 
/— — ^k  apostate.  This  exceedingly  amazed  me  ; 
JL.  jL^  for  I  had  concluded  that  no  man  ever 
had  a  better  title  to  the  bottomless  pit  than  he. 
But  I  soon  found  that  this  same  Julian  the  apostate 
was  also  the  very  individual  archbishop  Latimer. 
He  told  me  that  several  lies  had  been  raised  on  him 
in  his  former  capacity,  nor  was  he  so  bad  a  man  as 
he  had  been  represented.  However,  he  had  been 
denied  admittance,  and  forced  to  underiro  seveial 
subsequent  pilgrimages  on  earth,  and  to  act  in  the 
different  characters  of  a  slave,  a  Jew,  a  general,  an 
heir,  a  carpenter,  a  beau,  a  nionk,  a  fiddler,  a  wise 
man,  a  king,  a  fool,  a  beggac ,  a  prince,  a  statesman, 
a  soldier,  a  taylor,  an  alderman,  a  poet,  a  knight,  a 
dancing-master,  and  three  times  a  bishop,  before  his 
martyrdom,  which,  together  with  his  other  behaviour 
in  this  last  character,  satisfied  the  judge,  and  pro- 
cured him  a  passage  to  the  blessed  regions. 

[57] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

I  told  him  such  various  characters  must  have 
produced  incidents  extremely  entertaining  ;  and  if 
he  remembered  all,  as  I  supposed  he  did,  and  had 
leisure,  I  should  be  obliged  to  him  for  the  recital. 
He  answered  he  perfectly  recollected  every  circum- 
stance ;  and  as  to  leisure,  the  only  business  of  that 
happy  place  was  to  contribute  to  the  happiness  of 
each  other.  He  therefore  thanked  me  for  adding  to 
his,  in  proposing  to  him  a  method  of  increasing 
mine.  I  then  took  my  little  darling  in  one  hand, 
and  my  favourite  fellow-traveller  in  the  other,  and, 
going  with  him  to  a  sunny  bank  of  flowers,  we  all 
sat  down,  and  he  began  as  follows  :  — 

"  I  suppose  you  are  sufficiently  acquainted  with  my 
story  during  the  time  I  acted  the  part  of  the  em- 
peror Julian,  though  I  assure  you  all  which  hath 
been  related  of  me  is  not  true,  particularly  with  re- 
gard to  the  many  prodigies  forerunning  my  death. 
However,  they  are  now  very  little  worth  disputing; 
and  if  they  can  serve  any  purpose  of  the  historian 
they  are  extremely  at  his  service. 

"My  next  entrance  into  the  world  was  at  Laodi- 
cea,  in  Syria,  in  a  Roman  family  of  no  great  note ; 
and,  being  of  a  roving  disposition,  I  came  at  the  age 
of  seventeen  to  Constantinople,  where,  after  about  a 
year's  stay,  I  set  out  for  Thrace,  at  the  time  when 
the  emperor  Yalens  admitted  the  Goths  into  that 
country.  I  was  there  so  captivated  with  the  beauty 
of  a  Gothic  lady,  the  wife  of  one  Rodoric,  a  captain, 
whose  name,  out  of  the  most  delicate  tenderness  for 
her  lovely  sex,  I  shall  even  at  this  distance  conceal ; 
since  her  behaviour  to  me  was  more  consistent  with 

[58j 


JULIAN    A    SLAVE 

good-nature  than  with  that  vh-tue  which  women  are 
obHged  to  preserve  against  every  assailant.  In  order 
to  procure  an  intimacy  with  this  woman  I  sold  my- 
self a  slave  to  her  husband,  who,  being  of  a  nation 
not  over-inclined  to  jealousy,  presented  me  to  his 
wife,  for  those  very  reasons  which  would  have  in- 
duced one  of  a  jealous  complexion  to  have  withheld 
me  from  her,  namely,  for  that  I  was  young  and 
handsome. 

"  Matters  succeeded  so  far  according  to  my  wish, 
and  the  sequel  answered  those  hopes  which  this  be- 
ginning had  raised.  I  soon  perceived  my  service  was 
very  acceptable  to  her ;  I  often  met  her  eyes,  nor 
did  she  withdraw  them  without  a  confusion  which 
is  scarce  consistent  with  entire  purity  of  heart.  In- 
deed, she  gave  me  every  day  fresh  encouragement ; 
but  the  unhappy  distance  which  circumstances  had 
placed  between  us  deterred  me  long  from  making 
any  direct  attack  ;  and  she  was  too  strict  an  ob- 
server of  decorum  to  violate  the  severe  rules  of  mod- 
esty bv  advancing  first ;  but  passion  at  last  got  the 
better  of  mv  respect,  and  I  resolved  to  make  one 
bold  attemjit,  whatever  was  the  consequence.  Ac- 
cordingly, laying  hold  of  the  first  kind  opportunity, 
when  she  was  alone  and  my  master  abroad,  I  stoutly 
assailed  the  citadel  and  carried  it  by  storm.  Well 
may  I  say  by  storm  ;  for  the  resistance  I  met  was 
extremely  resolute,  and  indeed  as  much  as  the  most 
perfect  decency  would  require.  She  swore  often  she 
would  cry  out  for  help ;  but  I  answered  it  was  in 
vain,  seeing  there  was  no  person  near  to  assist  her; 
and  probably  she  believed  me,  for  she  did  not  once 

[59] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

actually  cry   out,  which  if  she  had,  I   might   very 
likely  have  been  prevented. 

"  When  she  found  her  vii-tue  thus  subdued  against 
her  will  she  patiently  submitted  to  her  fate,  and 
quietly  suffered  me  a  long  time  to  enjoy  the  most 
delicious  fruits  of  my  victory  ;  but  envious  fortune 
resolved  to  make  me  pay  a  dear  price  for  my  pleas- 
ure. One  day  in  the  midst  of  our  happiness  we  were 
suddenly  surprized  by  the  unexpected  return  of  her 
husband,  who,  coming  directly  into  his  wife^s  apart- 
ment, just  allowed  me  time  to  creep  under  the  bed. 
The  disorder  in  which  he  found  his  wife  might  have 
surprized  a  jealous  temper  ;  but  his  was  so  far  other- 
wise, that  possibly  no  mischief  might  have  happened 
had  he  not  by  a  cross  accident  discovered  my  legs, 
which  wiere  not  well  hid.  He  immediately  drew  me 
out  by  them,  and  then,  turning  to  his  wife  with  a 
stern  countenance,  began  to  handle  a  weapon  he  wore 
by  his  side,  with  which  I  am  persuaded  he  would 
have  instantly  despatched  her,  had  I  not  very  gal- 
lantly, and  with  many  imprecations,  asserted  her 
innocence  and  my  own  guilt ;  which,  however,  I  pro- 
tested had  hitherto  gone  no  farther  than  design. 
She  so  well  seconded  my  plea  (for  she  was  a  woman 
of  wonderful  art),  that  he  was  at  length  imposed 
upon  ;  and  now  all  his  rage  was  directed  against  me, 
threatening  all  manner  of  tortures,  which  the  poor 
ladv  was  in  too  great  a  fright  and  confusion  to  dis- 
suade him  from  executing ;  and  perhaps,  if  her  con- 
cern for  me  had  made  her  attempt  it,  it  would 
have  raised  a  jealousy  in  him  not  afterwards  to  be 
removed. 

[60] 


BARBAROUS    TREATMENT 

"  After  some  hesitation  Rodoric  cried  out  he  had 
luckily  hit  on  the  most  pro])er  punishment  for  me  in 
the  world,  by  a  method  which  would  at  once  do 
severe  justice  on  me  for  my  criminal  intention,  and 
at  the  same  time  prevent  me  from  any  danger  of 
executing  my  wicked  purpose  hereafter.  This  cruel 
resolution  was  immediately  executed,  and  I  was  no 
longer  worthy  the  name  of  a  man. 

"  Having  thus  disqualified  me  from  doing  him  any 
future  injury,  he  still  retained  me  in  his  family ;  but 
the  lady,  very  probably  repenting  of  what  she  had 
done,  and  looking  on  me  as  the  author  of  her  guilt, 
would  never  for  the  future  give  me  either  a  kind 
word  or  look  :  and  shortly  after,  a  great  exchange 
being  made  between  the  Romans  and  the  Goths  of 
dogs  for  men,  my  lady  exchanged  me  with  a  Roman 
widow  for  a  sn)all  lap-dog,  giving  a  considerable  sum 
of  money  to  boot. 

"  In  this  widow's  service  I  remained  seven  years, 
during  all  which  time  I  was  veiy  barbarously  treated. 
I  was  worked  without  the  least  mercy,  and  often 
severely  beat  by  a  swinging  maid-servant,  who  never 
called  me  by  any  other  names  than  those  of  the 
Thing  and  the  Animal.  Thougli  I  used  my  utmost 
industry  to  please,  it  never  was  in  my  power. 
Neither  the  lady  nor  her  woman  would  eat  anything 
I  touched,  saying  they  did  not  believe  me  wholesome. 
It  is  unnecessary  to  repeat  particulars  ;  in  a  word, 
you  can  imagine  no  kind  of  ill  usage  which  I  did 
not  suffer  in  this  family. 

'*  At  last  an  heathen  priest,  an  acquaintance  of  my 
lady's,  obtained  me  of  her  for  a  present.     The  scene 

[61] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

was  jiow  totally  changed,  and  I  had  as  much  reason 
to  be  satisfied  with  my  present  situation  as  I  had  to 
lament  my  former.  I  was  so  absolutely  my  master's 
favourite,  that  the  rest  of  the  slaves  paid  me  almost 
as  much  regard  as  they  shewed  to  him,  well  knowing 
that  it  was  entirely  in  my  power  to  command  and 
treat  them  as  I  pleased.  I  was  intrusted  with  all 
my  master's  secrets,  and  used  to  assist  him  in  pri- 
vately conveying  away  by  night  the  sacrifices  from 
the  altars,  which  the  people  believed  the  deities 
themselves  devoured.  Upon  these  we  feasted  very 
elegantly,  nor  could  invention  suggest  a  rarity  which 
we  did  not  pamper  ourselves  with.  Perhaps  you 
may  admire  at  the  close  union  between  this  priest 
and  his  slave,  but  we  lived  in  an  intimacy  which  the 
Christians  thought  criminal  ;  but  my  master,  who 
knew  the  will  of  the  gods,  with  whom  he  told  me 
he  often  conversed,  assured  me  it  was  perfectly 
innocent. 

"  This  happy  life  continued  about  four  years, 
when  my  master's  death,  occasioned  by  a  surfeit  got 
by  overfeeding  on  several  exquisite  dainties,  put  an 
end  to  it. 

"  I  now  fell  into  the  hands  of  one  of  a  very  differ- 
ent disposition,  and  this  was  no  other  than  the  cele- 
brated St.  Chrysostom,  who  dieted  me  with  sermons 
instead  of  sacrifices,  and  filled  my  ears  with  good 
things,  but  not  my  belly.  Instead  of  high  food  lo 
fatten  and  pamper  my  flesh,  I  had  receipts  to  mortifv 
and  reduce  it.  With  these  I  edified  so  well,  that 
within  a  few  months  I  became  a  skeleton.  However, 
as  he  had  converted  me  to  his  faith,   I  was  well 

[62] 


IN    THE    SERVICE    OF    A    SAINT 

enough  satisfied  with  this  new  manner  of  hving,  by 
which  he  taught  nie  I  might  ensure  myself  an  eternal 
reward  in  a  future  state.  The  saint  was  a  good- 
natured  man,  and  never  gave  me  an  ill  word  but 
once,  which  was  occasioned  by  my  neglecting  to 
place  Aristophanes,  which  was  his  constant  bed- 
fellow, on  his  pillow.  He  was,  indeed,  extremely 
fond  of  that  Greek  poet,  and  frequently  made  me 
lead  his  comedies  to  him.  When  I  came  to  any  of 
the  loose  passages  he  would  smile,  and  say,  '  It  was 
pity  his  matter  was  not  as  pure  as  his  style  ; '  of 
which  latter  he  was  so  immoderately  fond  that,  not- 
withstanding the  detestation  he  expressed  for  obscen- 
ity, he  hath  made  me  repeat  those  passages  ten 
times  over.  The  character  of  this  good  man  hath 
been  very  unjustly  attacked  by  his  heathen  contem- 
poraries, particularly  with  regard  to  women  ;  but  his 
severe  invectives  against  that  sex  are  his  sufficient 
justification. 

"  From  the  service  of  this  saint,  from  whom  I 
received  manumission,  I  entered  into  the  family  of 
Timasius,  a  leader  of  great  eminence  in  the  imperial 
army,  into  whose  favour  I  so  far  insinuated  myself 
that  he  preferred  me  to  a  good  command,  and  soon 
made  me  partaker  of  both  his  company  and  his 
secrets.  I  soon  grew  intoxicated  with  this  prefer- 
ment, and  the  more  he  loaded  me  with  benefits  the 
more  he  raised  my  opinion  of  my  own  merit,  which, 
still  outstripping  the  rewards  he  conferred  on  me, 
inspired  me  rather  with  dissatisfaction  than  grati- 
tude. And  thus,  by  preferring  me  beyond  my  merit 
or  first  expectation,  he  made  me  an  envious  aspiring 

[63] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

enemy,  whom  perhaps  a  more  moderate  bounty  would 
have  preserved  a  dutiful  servant. 

"  I  fell  now  acquainted  with  one  Lucilius,  a 
creature  of  the  prime  minister  Eutropius,  who  had 
by  his  favour  been  raised  to  the  post  of  a  tribune ; 
.1  man  of  low  morals,  and  eminent  only  in  that  mean- 
est of  qualities,  cunning.  This  gentleman,  imagin- 
ing me  a  fit  tool  for  the  minister's  purpose,  having 
often  sounded  my  principles  of  honour  and  honesty, 
both  which  he  declared  to  me  were  words  without 
meaning,  and  finding  my  ready  concurrence  in  his 
sentiments,  recommended  me  to  Eutropius  as  very 
proper  to  execute  some  wicked  purposes  he  had  con- 
tnved  against  my  friend  Timasius.  The  minister 
embraced  this  recommendation,  and  I  was  accord- 
ingly acquainted  by  Lucilius  (after  some  previous 
accounts  of  the  great  esteem  Eutropius  entertained 
of  me,  from  the  testimony  he  had  borne  of  my  parts) 
that  he  would  introduce  me  to  him  ;  adding  that  he 
was  a  great  encourager  of  merit,  and  that  I  might 
depend  upon  his  favour. 

*'  I  was  with  little  difficulty  prevailed  on  to  accept 
of  this  invitation.  A  late  hour  therefore  the  next 
evening  being  appointed,  I  attended  my  friend  Lu- 
cilius to  the  minister's  house.  He  received  me  with 
the  utmost  civility  and  chearfulness,  and  affected  so 
much  regard  to  me,  that  I,  who  knew  nothing  of 
these  high  scenes  of  life,  concluded  I  had  in  him  a 
most  disinterested  friend,  owing  to  the  favourable 
report  which  Lucilius  had  made  of  me.  I  was  how- 
ever soon  cured  of  this  opinion  ;  for  immediately  after 
supper  our  discourse  turned  on  the  injustice  which 

[64] 


AT    THE    MINISTER'S    HOUSE 

the  generality  of  the  world  were  guilty  of  in  their 
conduct  to  great  men,  expecting  that  they  should 
reward  their  private  merit,  without  ever  endeavour- 
ing to  apply  it  to  their  use.  '  What  avail,"  said 
Eu tropins,  '  the  learning,  wit,  courage,  or  any  virtue 
which  a  man  may  be  possest  of,  to  me,  xmless  I  re- 
ceive some  benefit  from  them  ?  Hath  he  not  more 
merit  to  me  who  doth  my  business  and  obeys  my 
commands,  without  any  of  these  qualities  ? '  I 
ii'ave  such  entire  satisfaction  in  my  answers  on 
this  head,  that  both  the  minister  and  his  creature 
grew  bolder,  and  after  some  preface  began  to  accuse 
Timasius.  At  last,  finding  I  did  not  attempt  to 
defend  him,  Lucilius  swore  a  great  oath  that  he  was 
not  fit  to  live,  and  that  he  would  destroy  him. 
Eutropius  answered  that  it  would  be  too  dangerous 
a  task  :  '  Indeed,'  savs  he,  '  his  crimes  are  of  so  black 
a  die,  and  so  well  known  to  the  emperor,  that  his 
death  mu^t  be  a  very  acceptable  service,  and  could 
not  fail  meeting  a  proper  reward  :  but  I  question 
whether  you  are  capable  of  executing  it.'  '  If  he  is 
not,'  cried  I,  *  I  am  ;  and  surely  no  man  can  have 
greater  motives  to  destroy  him  than  myself:  for, 
besides  his  disloyalty  to  my  prince,  for  whom  I  have 
so  perfect  a  duty,  I  have  private  disobligations  to 
him.  I  have  had  fellows  put  over  my  head,  to  the 
great  scandal  of  the  service  in  general,  and  to  my 
own  prejudice  and  disappointment  in  particular.' 
I  will  not  repeat  you  my  whole  speech  ;  but,  to  be 
as  concise  as  possible,  when  we  parted  that  evening 
the  minister  squeezed  me  heartily  by  the  hand,  and 
with  great  commendation  of  my  honesty  and  assur- 

YOL.  I.  5  [    65   ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

ances  of  his  favour,  he  appointed  me  the  next  even- 
ing to  come  to  him  alone ;  when,  finding  me,  after  a 
httle  more  scrutiny,  ready  for  his  purpose,  he  pro- 
posed to  me  to  accuse  Timasius  of  high  treason, 
promising  me  the  highest  rewards  if  I  would  under- 
take it.  The  consequence  to  him,  I  suppose  you 
know,  was  ruin ;  but  what  was  it  to  me  ?  AVhy, 
truly,  when  I  waited  on  Eutropius  for  the  fulfilling 
his  promises,  he  received  me  with  great  distance  and 
coldness;  and,  on  my  dropping  some  hints  of  my 
expectations  from  him,  he  affected  not  to  understand 
me  ;  saying  he  thought  impunity  was  the  utmost  I 
could  hope  for  on  discovering  my  accomplice,  whose 
offence  was  only  greater  than  mine,  as  he  was  in  a 
higher  station  ;  and  telling  me  he  had  great  difficulty 
to  obtain  a  pardon  for  me  from  the  emperor,  which, 
he  said,  he  had  struggled  very  hardly  for,  as  he  had 
worked  the  discovery  out  of  me.  He  turned  away, 
and  addressed  himself  to  another  person. 

"  I  was  so  incensed  at  this  treatment,  that  I  re- 
solved revenge,  and  should  certainly  have  pursued  it, 
had  he  not  cautiously  prevented  me  by  taking  effectual 
means  to  despatch  me  soon  after  out  of  the  world. 

"  You  will,  I  beheve,  now  think  I  had  a  second 
good  chance  for  the  bottomless  pit,  and  indeed 
Minos  seemed  inclined  to  tumble  me  in,  till  he  was 
informed  of  the  revenge  taken  on  me  by  Rodoric, 
and  my  seven  years"*  subsequent  servitude  to  the 
widow ;  -which  he  thought  sufficient  to  make  atone- 
ment for  all  the  crimes  a  single  life  could  admit  of,  and 
so  sent  me  back  to  try  my  fortune  a  third  time." 


CHAPTER   ELEVEN 

m    WHICH    JULIAN    RELATES    HIS    ADVEKTITRES    IN    THE 
CHARACTER    OF    AN    AVARICIOUS    JEW. 

THE  next  character  in  which  I  was  des- 
tined to  appear  in  the  flesh  was  that  of 
an  avaricious  Jew.  I  was  bom  in  Alex- 
andria in  Egypt.  My  name  was  Bal- 
thazar. Nothing  very  remarkable  happened  to  me 
till  the  year  of  the  memorable  tumult  in  which  the 
Jews  of  that  city  are  reported  in  history  to  have 
massacred  more  Christians  than  at  that  time  dwelt 
in  it.  Indeed,  the  truth  is,  they  did  maul  the  dogs 
pretty  handsomely  ;  but  I  myself  was  not  present, 
for  as  all  our  people  were  ordered  to  be  armed,  I 
took  that  opportunity  of  selling  two  swords,  which 
probably  I  might  otherwise  never  have  disposed  of, 
they  being  extremely  old  and  rusty  ;  so  that,  having 
no  weapon  left,  I  did  not  care  to  venture  abroad. 
Besides,  though  I  really  thought  it  an  act  meriting 
salvation  to  murder  the  Nazarenes,  as  the  fact  was 
to  be  committed  at  midnight,  at  which  time,  to 
avoid  suspicion,  we  Avere  all  to  sally  from  our  own 
houses,  I  could  not  persuade  myself  to  consume  so 
much  oil  in  sitting  up  to  that  hour :  for  these  reasons 
therefore  I  remained  at  home  that  evening. 

"  I  was  at  this  time  greatly  enamoured  with  one 
Hypatia,  the  daughter  of  a  })hilosopher  ;   a  young 

[67] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

lad}^  of  the  greatest  beauty  and  merit :  indeed,  she 
had  every  imaginable  ornament  both  of  mind  and 
body.  She  seemed  not  to  disHke  my  person  ;  but 
there  were  two  obstructions  to  our  marriaee,  viz., 
my  religion  and  her  poverty  :  both  which  might 
probably  have  been  got  over,  had  not  those  dogs 
the  Christians  murdered  her  ;  and,  what  is  worse, 
afterwards  burned  her  body  :  worse,  I  say,  because 
I  lost  by  that  means  a  jewel  of  some  value,  which  I 
had  presented  to  her,  designing,  if  our  nuptials  did 
not  take  place,  to  demand  it  of  her  back  again. 

"  Being  thus  disappointed  in  my  love,  I  soon  after 
left  Alexandria  and  went  to  the  imperial  city,  where 
I  apprehended  I  should  find  a  good  market  for  jewels 
on  the  approaching  marriage  of  the  emperor  with 
Athenais.  I  disguised  myself  as  a  beggar  on  this 
journey,  for  these  reasons :  first,  as  I  imagined  I 
should  thus  carry  my  jewels  with  greater  safety  ; 
and,  secondly,  to  lessen  my  expenses ;  which  latter 
expedient  succeeded  so  well,  that  I  begged  two  oboli 
on  my  way  more  than  my  travelling  cost  me,  my 
diet  being  chiefly  roots,  and  my  drink  water. 

"  But,  perhaps,  it  had  been  better  for  me  if  I 
had  been  more  lavish  and  more  expeditious  ;  for  the 
ceremony  was  over  before  I  reached  Constantinople ; 
so  that  I  lost  that  glorious  opportunity  of  disposing 
of  my  jewels  with  which  many  of  our  people  were 
greatly  enriched. 

"The  life  of  a  miser  is  very  little  worth  relating, 
as  it  is  one  constant  scheme  of  getting  or  saving 
money.  I  shall  therefore  repeat  to  you  some  few  only 
of  my  adventures,  without  regard  to  any  order. 

[68] 


ADVENTURES    AS    A    MISER 

"  A  Roman  Jew,  who  was  a  great  lover  of  Faler- 
nian  wine,  and  who  indulged  himself  very  freely  with 
it,  came  to  dine  at  my  house ;  when,  knowing  he 
should  meet  with  little  wine,  and  that  of  the  cheaper 
sort,  sent  me  in  lialf-a-dozen  jars  of  Falernian.  Can 
you  believe  I  would  not  give  this  man  his  own  wine  ? 
Sir,  I  adulterated  it  so  that  I  made  six  jars  of 
[them]  three,  which  he  and  his  friend  drank  ;  the 
other  three  I  afterwards  sold  to  the  very  person  who 
originally  sent  them  me,  knowing  he  would  give  a 
better  price  than  any  other. 

"  A  noble  Roman  came  one  day  to  my  house  in 
the  country,  which  I  had  purchased,  for  half  the 
value,  of  a  distressed  person.  My  neighbours  paid 
him  the  compliment  of  some  music,  on  which  ac- 
count, when  he  departed,  he  left  a  piece  of  gold 
with  me  to  be  distributed  among  them.  I  pocketed 
this  money,  and  ordered  them  a  small  vessel  of  sour 
wine,  which  I  could  not  have  sold  for  above  two 
drachms,  and  afterwards  made  them  pay  in  work 
three  times  the  value  of  it. 

"  As  I  was  not  entirely  void  of  religion,  though  I 
pretended  to  infinitely  more  than  I  had,  so  I  en- 
deavoured to  reconcile  my  transactions  to  my  con- 
science as  well  as  possible.  Thus  I  never  invited 
any  one  to  eat  with  me,  but  those  on  whose  pockets 
I  had  some  design.  After  our  collation  it  was  con- 
stantly my  method  to  set  down  in  a  book  I  kept  for 
that  purpose,  what  I  thought  they  owed  me  for 
their  meal.  Indeed,  this  was  generally  a  hundi'ed 
times  as  much  as  thev  could  have  dined  elsewhere 

•r' 

for;    but,  however,  it   was  quid  pro  qrio,  if  not  ad 

[69] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

valorem.  Now,  whenever  the  opportunit}'  offered  of 
imposing  on  them  I  considered  it  only  as  paying 
myself  what  they  owed  me :  indeed,  I  did  not  always 
confine  myself  strictly  to  what  I  had  set  down,  how- 
ever extravagant  that  was  ;  but  I  reconciled  taking 
the  overplus  to  myself  as  usance. 

"  But  I  was  not  only  too  cunning  for  others  —  I 
sometimes  overreached  myself.  I  have  contracted 
distempers  for  want  of  food  and  warmth,  which  have 
put  me  to  the  expence  of  a  physician  ;  nay,  I  once 
very  narrowly  escaped  death  by  taking  bad  drugs, 
only  to  save  one  seven-eighth  per  cent,  in  the  price. 

"  By  these  and  such  like  means,  in  the  midst  of 
poverty  and  every  kind  of  distress,  I  saw  myself  mas- 
ter of  an  immense  fortune,  the  casting  up  and  ruminat- 
ing on  which  was  my  daily  and  only  pleasure.  This 
was,  however,  obstructed  and  embittered  by  two  con- 
siderations, which  against  my  will  often  invaded  my 
thoughts.  One,  which  would  have  been  intolerable 
(but  that  indeed  seldom  troubled  me),  was,  that  I 
must  one  day  leave  my  darling  treasure.  The  other 
haunted  me  continually,  viz.,  that  my  riches  were  no 
greater.  However,  I  comforted  myself  against  this 
reflection  by  an  assurance  that  they  would  increase 
daily :  on  which  head  my  hopes  were  so  extensive 
that  I  may  say  with  Virgil  — 

'  His  ego  nee  metas  rerum  nee  tempora  pono.^ 

Indeed  I  am  convinced  that,  had  I  possessed  the 
whole  globe  of  earth,  save  one  single  drachma,  which 
I  had  been  certain  never  to  be  master  of — I  am  con- 
vinced, I  say,  that  single  drachma  would  have  given 

[70] 


A    MISERABLE    LIFE 

me  more  uneasiness  than  all  the  rest  could  afford  me 
pleasure. 

"  To  say  the  truth,  between  my  solicitude  in  con- 
triving schemes  to  procure  money  and  my  extreme 
anxiety  in  preserving  it,  I  never  had  one  moment  of 
ease  while  awake  nor  of  quiet  when  in  my  sleep.  In 
all  the  characters  through  which  I  have  passed,  I  have 
never  undergone  half  the  misery  I  suffered  in  this  ; 
and,  indeed,  Minos  seemed  to  be  of  the  same  opinion  ; 
for  while  I  stood  trembling  and  shaking  in  expecta- 
tion of  my  sentence  he  bid  me  go  back  about  my 
business,  for  that  nobody  was  to  be  d — n'd  in  more 
worlds  than  one.  And,  indeed,  I  have  since  learnt 
that  the  devil  will  not  receive  a  miser," 


[Tl] 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

WHAT    HAPPENED    TO    JULIAN    IN  THE    CHARACTEP.S  OF    A 
GENERAL,    AN    HEIR,    A    CARPENTER,    AND    A    BEAU. 

THE  next  step  I  took  into  the  world  was  at 
Apollonia,  in  Thrace,  where  I  was  born 
of  a  beautiful  Greek  slave,  who  was  the 
mistress  of  Eutvches,  a  great  favourite  of 
the  emperor  Zeno.  That  piince,  at  his  restoration, 
gave  me  the  command  of  a  cohort,  I  being  then  but 
fifteen  years  of  age  ;  and  a  little  afterwards,  before  I 
had  even  seen  an  army,  preferred  me,  over  the  heads 
of  all  the  old  officers,  to  be  a  tribune. 

"  As  I  found  an  easy  access  to  the  emperor,  by 
means  of  my  father's  intimacy  with  him,  he  being  a 
very  good  courtier —  or,  in  other  words,  a  most  pros- 
titute flatterer  —  so  I  soon  ingratiated  myself  with 
Zeno,  and  so  well  imitated  my  father  in  flattering 
him,  that  he  would  never  part  with  me  from  about 
his  person.  So  that  the  first  armed  force  I  ever 
belield  was  that  with  which  Marcian  surrounded  the 
palace,  where  I  was  then  shut  up  with  the  rest  of  the 
court. 

"  I  was  afterwards  put  at  the  head  of  a  legion  and 
ordered  to  march  into  Syria  with  Theodoric  the 
Goth  ;  that  is,  I  mean  my  legion  was  so  ordered ; 
for,  as  to  myself,  I  remained  at  court,  with  the  name 

[72] 


AN    EMPEROR'S    FAVOURITE 

and  pay  of  a  general,  without  the  labour  or  the 
danger. 

"  As  nothing  could  be  more  gay,  i.  e.,  debauched, 
than  Zeno's  court,  so  the  ladies  of  gay  disposition 
had  great  sway  in  it ;  particularly  one,  whose  name 
was  Fausta,  who,  though  not  extremely  handsome, 
was  by  her  wit  and  sprightliness  very  agreeable  to 
the  emperor.  With  her  I  lived  in  good  correspond- 
ence, and  we  together  disposed  of  all  kinds  of  com- 
missions in  the  army,  not  to  those  who  had  most 
merit,  but  who  would  purchase  at  the  highest  rate. 
My  levee  was  now  prodigiously  thronged  by  officers 
who  returned  from  the  campaigns,  who,  though  they 
might  have  been  convinced  by  daily  example  how 
ineffectual  a  recommendation  their  services  were, 
still  continued  indefatigable  in  attendance,  and  be- 
haved to  me  with  as  much  observance  and  respect  as 
I  should  have  been  entitled  to  for  making  their  for- 
tunes, while  I  suffered  them  and  their  families  to 
starve. 

"  Several  poets,  likewise,  addressed  verses  to  me, 
in  which  they  celebrated  my  achievements ;  and 
what,  perhaps,  may  seem  strange  to  us  at  present, 
I  received  all  this  incense  with  most  greedy  vanity, 
without  once  reflecting  that,  as  I  did  not  d&serve 
these  compliments,  they  should  rather  put  me  in 
mind  of  my  defects. 

"  My  father  was  now  dead,  and  I  became  so  abso- 
lute in  the  emperor's  grace  that  one  unacquainted 
with  courts  would  scarce  believe  the  servility  with 
which  all  kinds  of  persons  who  entered  the  walls  of 
the  palace  behaved  towards  me.     A  bow,  a  smile,  a 

[73] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

nod  from  me,  as  I  past  through  cringing  crouds, 
were  esteemed  as  signal  favours ;  but  a  gracious 
"ord  made  any  one  happy  ;  and,  indeed,  had  this 
real  benefit  attending  it,  that  it  drew  on  the  person 
on  whom  it  was  bestowed  a  very  great  degree  of 
respect  from  all  others  ;  for  these  are  of  current 
value  in  courts,  and,  like  notes  in  trading  connnun- 
ities,  are  assignable  from  one  to  the  other.  The 
smile  of  a  court  favourite  immediately  raises  the 
person  who  receives  it,  and  gives  a  value  to  his  smile 
when  conferred  on  an  inferior :  thus  the  smile  is 
transferred  from  one  to  the  other,  and  the  great 
man  at  last  is  the  person  to  discount  it.  For  in- 
stance, a  very  low  fellow  hath  a  desire  for  a  place. 
To  whom  is  he  to  apply  ?  Not  to  the  great  man  ; 
for  to  him  he  hath  no  access.  He  therefore  applies 
to  A,  who  is  the  creature  of  B,  who  is  the  tool  of 
C,  who  is  the  flatterer  of  D,  who  is  the  catamite  of 
E,  who  is  the  pimp  of  F,  who  is  the  bully  of  G,  who 
is  the  buffoon  of  I,  who  is  the  husband  of  K,  who  is 
the  whore  of  L,  who  is  the  bastard  of  M,  who  is  the 
instrument  of  the  great  man.  Thus  the  smile,  de- 
scending regularly  from  the  great  man  to  A,  is  dis- 
counted back  again,  and  at  last  paid  by  the  great 
man. 

"  It  is  manifest  that  a  court  would  subsist  as  diffi- 
cultly without  this  kind  of  coin  as  a  trading  city 
without  paper  credit.  Indeed,  they  differ  in  this, 
that  their  value  is  not  quite  so  certain,  and  a  fa- 
vourite may  protest  his  smile  without  the  danger  of 
bankruptcy. 

"  In  the  midst  of  all  this  glory  the  emperor  died, 

[74] 


A    LIFE    OF    EXTRAVAGANCE 

and  Anastasius  was  preferred  to  the  croAvn.  As  it 
was  yet  uncertain  whether  I  should  not  continue  in 
favour,  I  was  received  as  usual  at  my  entrance  into 
the  palace  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  new  emperor; 
but  I  was  no  sooner  rumped  by  him  than  I  received 
the  same  compliment  from  all  the  rest ;  the  whole 
room,  like  a  regiment  of  soldiers,  turning  their  backs 
to  me  all  at  once  :  my  smile  now  was  become  of 
etjual  value  with  the  note  of  a  broken  banker,  and 
every  one  was  as  cautious  not  to  receive  it. 

"  I  made  as  much  haste  as  possible  from  the  court, 
and  shortly  after  from  the  city,  retreating  to  the 
place  of  my  nativity,  where  I  spent  the  remainder 
of  my  days  in  a  retired  life  in  husbandry,  the  only 
amusement  for  which  I  was  qualified,  having  neither 
learning  nor  virtue. 

"  When  I  came  to  the  gate  Minos  again  seemed 
at  first  doubtful,  but  at  length  dismissed  me ;  saying 
though.  I  had  been  guilty  of  many  heinous  crimes,  in 
as  much  as  I  had,  though  a  general,  never  been  con- 
cerned in  spilling  human  blood,  I  might  return  again 
to  earth. 

"I  was  now  again  born  in  Alexandria,  and,  by 
great  accident,  entring  into  the  womb  of  my  daugh- 
ter-in-law, came  forth  my  own  grandson,  inheriting 
that  fortune  which  I  had  before  amassed. 

"  Extravagance  was  now  as  notoriously  my  vice  as 
avarice  had  been  foi-merly  ;  and  I  spent  in  a  very 
short  life  what  had  cost  me  the  labour  of  a  verv  long 
one  to  rake  together.  Perhaps  you  will  think  my 
present  condition  was  more  to  be  envied  than  my 
former :  but  upon  my  word  it  was  very  little  so ;  for, 

[75] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

by  possessing  everything  almost  before  I  desired  it,  I 
could  hardly  ever  say  I  enjoved  my  wish :  I  scarce 
ever  knew  the  delight  of  satisfving  a  craving  appe- 
tite. Besides,  as  I  never  once  tliought,  my  mind  was 
useless  to  me,  and  I  was  an  absolute  stranger  to  all 
the  pleasures  arising  from  it.  Nor,  indeed,  did  my 
education  qualify  me  for  any  delicacy  in  other  en- 
joyments; so  that  in  the  midst  of  plenty  I  loathed 
evervthino;.  Taste  for  elc";ance  I  had  none  :  and  the 
greatest  of  corporeal  blisses  I  felt  no  more  from  than 
the  lowest  animal.  In  a  word,  as  while  a  miser  I  had 
plenty  without  daring  to  use  it,  so  now  I  had  it  with- 
out appetite. 

"  But  if  I  was  not  very  happy  in  the  height  of  my 
enjoyment,  so  I  afterwards  became  pei'fectly  miser- 
able ;  being  soon  overtaken  by  disease,  and  reduced  to 
distress,  till  at  length,  with  a  broken  constitution  and 
broken  heart,  I  ended  my  wretched  days  in  a  gaol : 
nor  can  I  think  the  sentence  of  Minos  too  n)ild,  who 
condemned  me,  after  having  taken  a  lai-ge  dose  of 
avarice,  to  wander  three  years  on  the  banks  of  Cocy- 
tus,  with  the  knowledge  of  having  spent  the  fortune 
in  the  person  of  the  grandson  which  I  had  raised  in 
that  of  the  grandfather. 

"The  place  of  my  birth,  on  my  return  to  the 
world,  was  Constantinople,  where  my  father  was  a 
carpenter.  The  first  thing  I  remember  was,  the 
triumph  of  Belisarius,  which  was,  indeed,  a  most 
noble  shew ;  but  nothing  pleased  me  so  much  as 
the  figure  of  Gelimer,  king  of  the  African  Vandals, 
who,  being  led  captive  on  this  occasion,  reflecting 
with  disdain  on  the  mutation  of  his  own  fortune,  and 

[76] 


A    CARPENTER'S    LIFE 

on  the  ridiculous  empty  pomp  of  the  conqueror,  cried 
out,  '  VANriY,  vANrrv,  all  is  mere  vanity.' 

"  I  was  bred  up  to  my  father's  trade,  and  you  may 
easily  believe  so  low  a  sphere  could  produce  no  ad- 
ventures worth  your  notice.      However,  I  married  a 
woman  I  liked,  and  who  proved  a  very  tolerable  wife. 
My  days  were  past  in  hard  labour,  but  this  procured 
me  health,  and  I  enjoyed  a  homely  supper  at  night 
with  my  wife  with  more  pleasure  than  I  apprehend 
greater  persons  find  at  their  luxurious  meals.     My 
life  had  scarce  any  variety  in  it,  and  at  my  death  I 
advanced  to  Minos  with  great  confidence  of  entering 
the  gate :  but  I  was  unhappily  obliged  to  discover 
some  frauds  I  had  been  guilty  of  in  the  measure  of 
my  work  when  I  worked   by  the  foot,  as  well  as  my 
laziness  when  I  was  employed  by  the  day.    On  which 
account,  when  I  attempted  to  pass,  the  angry  judge 
laid  hold  on   me   by  the  shoulders,  and  turned  me 
back  so  violently,  that,  had  I  had  a  neck  of  flesh 
and  bone,  I  believe  he  would  have  broke  it." 


[77  J 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

JULIAN    PASSES    INTO    A    FOP. 

MY  scene  of  action  was  Rome.  I  was 
born  into  a  noble  family,  and  heir  to  a 
considerable  fortune.  On  which  my 
parents,  thinking  I  should  not  want 
any  talents,  resolved  very  kindly  and  wisely  to  throw 
none  away  upon  me.  The  only  instructors  of  my 
youth  were  therefore  one  Saltator,  who  taught  me 
several  motions  for  my  legs  ;  and  one  Ficus,  whose 
business  was  to  shew  me  the  cleanest  way  (as  he 
called  it)  of  cutting  off  a  man's  head.  When  I  was 
well  accomplished  in  these  sciences,  I  thought  nothing 
more  wanting,  but  what  was  to  be  furnished  by  the 
several  mechanics  in  Rome,  who  dealt  in  dressing  and 
adorning  the  pope.  Being  therefore  well  equipped 
with  all  which  their  art  could  produce,  I  became  at 
the  age  of  twenty  a  complete  finished  beau.  And  now 
during  forty-five  years  I  drest,  I  sang  and  danced, 
and  danced  and  sang,  I  bowed  and  ogled,  and  ogled 
and  bowed,  till,  in  the  sixty-sixth  year  of  my  age,  I 
got  cold  by  overheating  myself  with  dancing,  and 
died, 

"  Minos  told  me,  as  I  was  unworthy  of  Elysium,  so 
I  was  too  insignificant  to  be  damned,  and  therefore 
bad  me  walk  back  again." 

[78] 


CHAPTER   FOURTEEN 

ADVENTURES    IN    THE    PERSON    OF    A    MONK. 

FORTUNE  now  placed  me  in  the  character 
of  a  younger  brother  of  a  good  house,  and 
I  was  in  my  youth  sent  to  school ;  but 
learning  was  now  at  so  low  an  ebb,  that 
my  master  himself  could  hardly  construe  a  sentence 
of  Latin  ;  and  as  for  Greek,  he  could  not  read  it. 
With  very  little  knowledge  therefore,  and  with  alto- 
gether as  little  virtue,  I  was  set  apart  for  the  church, 
and  at  the  proper  age  commenced  monk.  I  lived 
many  years  retired  in  a  cell,  a  life  very  agreeable  to 
the  gloominess  of  my  temper,  which  was  much  in- 
clined to  despise  the  world  ;  that  is,  in  other  words, 
to  envy  all  men  of  superior  fortune  and  qualifications, 
and  in  general  to  hate  and  detest  the  human  species. 
Notwithstanding  which,  I  could,  on  proper  occasions, 
submit  to  flatter  the  vilest  fellow  in  nature,  which  I 
did  one  Stephen,  an  eunuch,  a  favourite  of  the  em- 
peror Justinian  II.,  one  of  the  wickedest  wretches 
whom  perhaps  the  woi-ld  ever  saw.  I  not  only  wrote 
a  panegyric  on  this  man,  but  I  commended  him  as  a 
pattern  to  all  others  in  my  sermons  ;  by  wliic-h  means 
I  so  greatly  ingratiated  myself  with  him,  that  he  in- 
troduced me  to  the  emperor's  presence,  where  I  pre- 
vailed so  far  by  the  same  methods,  that  I  was  shortly 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

taken  from  my  cell,  and  preferred  to  a  place  at  court. 
I  was  no  sooner  established  in  the  favour  of  Justinian 
than  I  prompted  him  to  all  kind  of  cruelty.  As  I 
was  of  a  sour  morose  temper,  and  hated  nothing 
more  than  the  symptoms  of  happiness  appearing  in 
any  countenance,  I  repiesented  uU  kind  of  diversion 
and  amusement  as  the  most  horrid  sins.  I  inveighed 
against  chearfulness  as  levity,  and  encouraged  nothing 
but  gravity,  or,  to  confess  the  truth  to  you,  hypocrisy. 
The  unhappy  emperor  followed  my  advice,  and  in- 
censed the  people  by  such  repeated  barbarities,  that 
he  was  at  last  deposed  by  them  and  banished. 

"  I  now  retired  again  to  my  cell  (for  historians 
mistake  in  saying  I  was  put  to  death),  where  I  re- 
mained safe  from  the  danger  of  the  irritated  mob, 
whom  I  cursed  in  my  own  heart  as  much  as  they 
could  curse  me. 

"  Justinian,  after  three  years  of  his  banishment,  re- 
turned to  Constantinople  in  disguise,  and  paid  n)e  a 
visit.  I  at  first  affected  not  to  know  him,  and  with- 
out the  least  compunction  of  gi-atitude  for  his  former 
favoui-s,  intended  not  to  receive  him,  till  a  thought 
immediately  suggesting  itself  to  me  how  I  might 
convert  him  to  my  advantage,  I  pretended  to  recol- 
lect him  ;  and,  blaming  the  shortness  of  my  memory 
and  badness  of  my  eyes,  I  sprung  forward  and  em- 
bi'aced  him  with  great  affection. 

"  My  design  was  to  betray  him  to  Apsimar,  who, 
I  doubted  not,  would  generously  reward  such  a  ser- 
vice. I  therefoie  very  earnestly  requested  him  to 
spend  the  whole  evening  with  me  ;  to  which  he  con- 
sented.    I  formed  an  excuse  for  leaving  him  a  few 

[80]   ^ 


ADVENTURES    AS    A    MONK 

minutes,  and  ran  away  to  the  palace  to  acquaint 
Apsimar  with  the  guest  whom  I  had  then  in  my 
cell.  He  presently  ordered  a  guard  to  go  with  me 
and  seize  him  ;  but,  whether  the  length  of  my  stay 
gave  him  any  suspicion,  or  whether  he  changed  his 
purpose  after  my  departure,  I  know  not ;  for  at  my 
return  we  found  he  had  given  us  the  slip ;  nor  could 
we  with  the  most  diligent  search  discover  him. 

"  Apsimar,  being  disappoijited  of  his  prey,  now 
raged  at  me  ;  at  first  denouncing  the  most  dreadful 
vengeance  if  I  did  not  produce  the  deposed  monarch. 
However,  by  soothing  his  passion  when  at  the  highest, 
and  afterwards  by  canting  and  flattery,  I  made  a  shift 
to  escape  his  fury. 

"  When  Justinian  was  restored  I  very  confidently 
went  to  wish  him  joy  of  his  restoration  :  but  it  seems 
he  had  unfortunately  heard  of  my  treachery,  so  that 
he  at  first  received  me  coldly,  and  afterwards  up- 
braided me  openly  with  what  I  had  done.  I  per- 
severed stoutly  in  denying  it,  as  I  knew  no  evidence 
could  be  produced  against  me ;  till,  finding  him 
irreconcilable,  I  betook  myself  to  reviling  him  in  my 
sermons,  and  on  every  other  occasion,  as  an  enemy 
to  the  church  and  good  men,  and  as  an  infidel,  a 
heretic,  an  atheist,  a  heathen,  and  an  Arian,  This 
I  did  immediately  on  his  return,  and  before  he  gave 
those  flagrant  proofs  of  his  inhumanity  which  after- 
wards sufficiently  verified  all  I  had  said. 

"  Luckily  I  died  on  the  same  day  when  a  great 
number  of  those  forces  which  Justinian  had  sent 
against  the  Thracian  Bosphorus,  and  who  had  exe- 
cuted such  unheard-of  cruelties  there,  perished.  As 
▼OL.  I.  —6  [  '^^l  J 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

every  one  of  these  was  cast  into  the  bottomless  pit, 
Minos  was  so  tired  with  condemnation,  tiiat  he  pro- 
claimed that  all  present  who  had  not  been  concerned 
in  that  bloody  expedition  might,  if  they  pleased, 
return  to  the  other  world.  I  took  him  at  his  word, 
and,  presently  turning  about,  began  my  journey." 


[82] 


CHAPTER   FIFTEEN 

JULIAN    PASSES    INTO   THE    CHARACTER    OF    A    FIDLER. 

ROME  was  now  the  seat  of  my  nativity. 
My  mother  was  an  African,  a  woman  of 
no  great  beauty,  but  a  favourite,  I  sup- 
pose from  her  piety,  of  pope  Gregory 
II.  Who  was  my  father  I  know  not,  but  I  beheve 
no  very  considerable  man  ;  for  after  the  death  of 
that  pope,  who  was,  out  of  his  reh'gion,  a  very  good 
friend  of  my  mother,  we  fell  into  great  distress,  and 
were  at  length  reduced  to  walk  the  streets  of  Rome; 
nor  had  either  of  us  any  other  support  but  a  fiddle, 
on  which  I  played  with  pretty  tolerable  skill  ;  for,  as 
my  genius  turned  naturally  to  music,  so  I  had  been 
in  my  youth  very  early  instructed  at  the  expense  of 
the  good  pope.  This  afforded  us  but  a  very  poor 
livelihood :  for,  though  I  had  often  a  numerous 
croud  of  hearers,  few  ever  thought  themselves  obliged 
to  contribute  the  smallest  pittance  to  the  poor  starv- 
ing wretch  who  had  given  them  pleasure.  Nay, 
some  of  the  graver  sort,  after  an  hour^s  attention  to 
my  music,  have  gone  away  shaking  their  heads,  and 
crying  it  was  a  shame  such  vagabonds  were  suffered 
to  stay  in  the  city. 

"  To  say   the  truth,   I    am    confident    the    fiddle 
would  not  have  kept  us  alive  had  we  entirely  de- 

[83] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

pended  on  tho  generosity  of  my  hearers.  My 
mother  therefore  was  forced  to  use  her  own  indus- 
try ;  and  while  I  was  soothing  the  ears  of  the  croud, 
she  applied  to  their  pockets,  and  that  generally 
with  such  good  success  that  we  now  began  to  enjoy 
a  very  comfortable  subsistence  ;  and  indeed,  had  we 
liad  the  least  prudence  or  forecast,  might  have  soon 
acquired  enough  to  enable  us  to  quit  this  dangerous 
and  dishonourable  way  of  life  :  but  I  know  not  what 
is  the  reason  that  money  got  with  labour  and  safety 
is  constantly  preserved,  while  the  produce  of  danger 
and  ease  is  commonly  spent  as  easily,  and  often  as 
wickedly,  as  acquired.  Thus  we  proportioned  our 
expenses  rather  by  what  we  had  than  what  we 
wanted  or  even  desired  ;  and  on  obtaining  a  con- 
siderable booty  we  have  even  forced  nature  into  the 
most  profligate  extravagance,  and  have  been  wicked 
without  inclination. 

"  We  carried  on  tliis  method  of  thievery  for  a 
long  time  without  detection  :  but,  as  Fortune  gen- 
erally leaves  persons  of  extraordinary  ingenuity  in 
the  lurch  at  laiit,  so  did  she  us ;  for  my  poor  mother 
was  taken  in  the  fact,  and,  together  with  myself,  as 
her  accomplice,  hurried  before  a  magistrate. 

"  Luckily  for  us,  the  person  who  was  to  be  our 
judge  was  the  greatest  lover  of  music  in  the  whole 
city,  and  had  often  sent  for  me  to  play  to  him,  for 
which,  as  he  had  given  me  very  small  rewards,  per- 
haps his  gratitude  now  moved  him  :  but,  whatever 
was  his  motive,  he  browbeat  the  informers  against 
us,  and  treated  their  evidence  with  so  little  favour, 
that  their  mouths  were  soon  stopped,  and  we  di«- 

[84] 


DISHONEST    MUSICIANS 

missed  with  honour  ;  ac(|uit' ed,  I  should  rather  have 
said,  for  we  were  not  suft'ercd  to  depart  till  I  had 
given  the  judge  se\eral  tunes  on  the  fiddle. 

"  We  escaped  tlic  better  on  tliis  occasion  because 
the  pei-son  robbed  happened  to  be  a  poet ;  which 
gave  the  judge,  v.ho  was  a  facetious  person,  many 
opportunities  of  jesting.  He  said  poets  and  musi- 
cians should  agree  together,  seeing  they  had  married 
sisters ;  which  he  afterwards  explained  to  be  the 
sister  arts.  And  when  the  piece  of  gold  was  pro- 
duced he  burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  said  it  must 
be  the  golden  age,  when  poets  had  gold  in  their 
pockets,  and  in  that  age  there  could  be  no  robbers. 
He  made  many  more  jest-5  of  the  same  kind,  but  a 
small  taste  will  suflice. 

"  It  is  a  common  saving  that  men  should  take 
warning  by  any  signal  delivery ;  but  I  cannot  ap- 
prove the  justice  of  it ;  for  to  me  it  seems  that  the 
acquittal  of  a  guilty  pei'son  should  rather  inspire 
him  with  confidence,  and  it  had  this  effect  on  us  : 
for  we  now  lauglied  at  the  law,  and  despised  its 
punishments,  v\hich  we  found  were  to  be  escaped 
even  against  positive  evidence.  We  imagined  the 
late  example  was  rather  a  warning  to  the  accuser 
tlian  the  criminal,  and  accordingly  proceeded  in  the 
most  impudent  and  flagitious  manner. 

"  Among  other  robberies,  one  night,  being  ad- 
mitted by  the  servants  into  the  house  of  an  opulent 
priest,  my  mother  took  an  opportunity,  whilst  the 
servants  were  dancing  to  my  tunes,  to  convey  away 
a  silver  vessel ;  this  she  did  without  the  least  sacri- 
legious intention ;  but  it  seems  the  cup,  which  was 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

a  pretty  large  one,  was  dedicated  to  holy  uses,  and 
only  borrowed  by  the  priest  on  an  entertainment 
which  he  made  for  some  of  his  brethren.  We  were 
immediately  pursued  upon  this  robbery  (the  cup 
being  taken  in  our  possession),  and  carried  before 
the  same  magistrate,  who  had  before  behaved  to  us 
with  so  much  gentleness  :  but  his  countenance  was 
now  changed,  for  the  moment  the  priest  appeared 
against  us,  his  severity  was  as  remarkable  as  his 
candour  had  been  before,  and  we  were  both  ordered 
to  be  stript  and  whipt  through  the  streets. 

"  This  sentence  was  executed  with  great  severity, 
the  iriest  himself  attending  and  encouraging  the 
exec; ;  1  ioner,  which  he  said  he  did  for  the  good  of 
our  souls ;  but,  though  our  backs  were  both  flead, 
neither  my  mother^s  torments  nor  my  own  afflicted 
me  so  much  as  the  indignity  offered  to  my  poor 
fiddle,  which  was  carried  in  triumph  before  me,  and 
treated  with  a  contempt  by  the  multitude,  intimat- 
ing a  great  scorn  for  the  science  I  had  the  honour  to 
profess ;  which,  as  it  is  one  of  the  noblest  inventions 
of  men,  and  as  I  had  been  always  in  the  highest  de- 
gree proud  of  my  excellence  in  it,  I  suffei-ed  so  much 
from  the  ill-treatment  my  fiddle  received,  that  I 
would  have  given  all  my  remainder  of  skin  to  have 
preserved  it  from  this  affront. 

" My  mother  survived  the  whipping  a  very  short 
time ;  and  I  was  now  reduced  to  great  distress  and 
misery,  till  a  young  Roman  of  considerable  rank 
took  a  fancy  to  me,  received  me  into  his  family,  and 
conversed  with  me  in  the  utmost  familiarity.  He 
had  a  violent  attachment  to  music,  and  would  learn 

[86] 


A    TEACHER    OF    MUSIC 

to  play  on  the  fiddle ;  but,  through  want  of  genius 
for  the  science,  he  never  made  any  considerable  prog- 
ress. However,  I  flattered  his  performance,  and  he 
grew  extravagantly  fond  of  me  for  so  doing.  Had 
I  continued  this  behaviour  I  might  possibly  have 
reaped  the  greatest  advantages  from  his  kindness ; 
but  I  had  raised  his  own  opinion  of  his  musical  abil- 
ities so  high,  that  he  now  began  to  prefer  his  skill 
to  mine,  a  presumption  I  could  not  bear.  One  day 
as  we  were  playing  in  concert  he  was  horribly  out; 
nor  was  it  possible,  as  he  destroyed  the  harmony,  to 
avoid  telling  him  of  it.  Instead  of  receiving  my 
correction,  he  answered  it  was  my  blunder  and  not 
his,  and  that  I  had  mistaken  the  key.  Such  an 
affront  from  my  own  scholar  was  beyond  human 
patience ;  I  flew  into  a  violent  passion,  I  flung 
down  my  instrument  in  a  rage,  and  swore  I  was 
not  to  be  taught  music  at  my  age.  He  answered, 
with  as  much  warmth,  nor  was  he  to  be  instructed 
by  a  stroling  fiddler.  The  dispute  ended  in  a  chal- 
lenge to  play  a  prize  before  judges.  This  wager  was 
determined  in  my  favour;  but  the  purchase  was  a 
dear  one,  for  I  lost  my  friend  by  it,  who  now,  twit- 
ting me  with  all  his  kindness,  with  my  former  igno- 
minious punishment,  and  the  destitute  condition 
from  which  I  had  been  by  his  bounty  relieved,  dis- 
carded me  for  ever. 

"  While  I  lived  w  ith  this  gentleman  I  became 
known,  among  others,  to  Sabina,  a  lady  of  distinc- 
tion, and  who  valued  herself  n)uch  on  her  taste  for 
music.  She  no  sooner  lieard  of  my  being  discarded 
than  she  took  me  into  her  house,  where  I  was  ex- 

[87] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

tremely  well  cloathed  and  fed.  Notwithstanding 
which,  my  situation  was  far  from  agreeable ;  for  I 
was  obliged  to  submit  to  her  constant  reprehensions 
before  company,  which  gave  me  the  greater  uneasi- 
ness because  they  were  always  wrong  ;  nor  am  I  cer- 
tain that  she  did  not  by  these  provocations  contribute 
to  my  death  :  for,  as  experience  had  taught  me  to 
give  up  my  resentment  to  my  bread,  so  my  passions, 
for  want  of  outward  vent,  preyed  inwardly  on  my 
vitals,  and  perhaps  occasioned  the  distemper  of 
which  I  sickened. 

"  The  lady,  who,  amidst  all  the  faults  she  found, 
was  very  fond  of  me,  nay,  probably  was  the  fonder 
of  me  the  more  faults  she  found,  immediately  called 
iu  the  aid  of  three  celebrated  physicians.  The  doc- 
tors (being  well  fee'd)  made  me  seven  visits  in  three 
days,  and  two  of  them  were  at  the  door  to  visit  me 
the  eighth  time,  when,  being  acquainted  that  I  was 
just  dead,  they  shook  their  heads  and  departed. 

"  When  I  came  to  Minos  he  asked  me  with  a 
smile  whether  I  had  brought  n)y  fiddle  with  me  ; 
and,  receiving  an  answer  in  the  negative,  he  bid  me 
get  about  my  business,  saying  it  was  well  for  me  that 
the  devil  was  no  lover  of  music." 


[88] 


CHAPTER   SIXTEEN 

THE    HISTORY    OF    THE   WISE    MAN. 

I  NOW  returned  to  Rome,  but  in  a  very  differ- 
ent character.  Fo)'tune  had  now  allotted  me 
a  serious  part  to  act.  I  had  even  in  my  in- 
fancy a  gra\  e  disposition,  nor  was  I  ever  seen 
to  smile,  which  infused  an  opinion  into  all  about  me 
that  I  was  a  child  of  great  solidity  ;  some  foreseeing 
that  I  should  be  a  judge,  and  others  a  bishop.  At 
two  years  old  my  father  presented  me  with  a  rattle, 
which  I  broke  to  pieces  with  great  indignation. 
This  the  good  parent,  being  extremely  wise,  re- 
garded as  an  eminent  symptom  of  my  wisdom,  and 
cried  out  in  a  kind  of  extasy,  '  Well  said,  boy !  I 
warrant  thou  makest  a  great  man.' 

"  At  school  I  could  never  be  persuaded  to  play 
with  my  mates  ;  not  that  I  spent  my  hours  in  learn- 
ing, to  which  I  was  not  in  the  least  addicted,  nor 
indeed  had  I  any  talents  for  it.  However,  the 
solemnity  of  my  carriage  won  so  much  on  mv  master, 
who  was  a  most  sagacious  person,  that  I  was  his  chief 
favourite,  and  my  example  on  all  occasions  was  recom- 
mended to  the  other  boys,  which  filled  them  with  envy, 
and  me  with  pleasure;  but,  though  they  envied  me, 
they  all  paid  me  that  involuntary  respect  which  it  is 
the  curse  attending  this  passion  to  bear  towards  its 
object. 

[89] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

"  I  had  now  obtained  universally  the  character  of 
a  very  wisa  young  man,  which  I  did  not  altogether 
purchase  without  pains  ;  for  the  restraint  I  laid  on 
myself  in  abstaining  from  the  several  diversions 
adapted  to  my  years  cost  me  many  a  yearning ;  but 
the  pride  which  I  inwardly  enjoyed  in  the  fencied 
dignity  of  my  character  made  me  son)e  amends. 

"  Thus  I  past  on,  without  anything  very  memor- 
able happening  to  me,  till  I  arrived  at  the  age  of 
twenty-three,  when  unfortunately  I  fell  ac{|uainted 
with  a  young  Neapolitan  lady  whose  name  was 
Ariadne.  Her  beauty  was  so  exquisite  that  her 
first  sight  made  a  violent  impression  on  me  ;  this 
was  again  improved  by  her  behaviour,  which  was 
most  genteel,  easy,  and  affable  :  lastly,  her  conversa- 
tion compleated  the  conquest.  In  this  she  discov- 
ered a  strong  and  lively  understanding,  with  the 
sweetest  and  most  benign  temper.  This  lovely  crea- 
ture was  about  eighteen  when  I  first  unhappily  be- 
held her  at  Rome,  on  a  visit  to  a  relation  with  whom 
I  had  great  intimacy.  As  our  interviews  at  first 
were  extremely  frequent,  my  passions  were  capti- 
vated before  I  apprehended  the  least  danger ;  and 
the  sooner  probably,  as  the  young  lady  herself,  to 
whom  I  consulted  every  method  of  recommendation, 
was  not  displeased  w  ith  my  being  her  admirer. 

"  Ariadne,  having  spent  three  months  at  Rome, 
now  returned  to  Naples,  bearing  my  heart  with  her : 
on  the  other  hand,  I  had  all  the  assurances  consis- 
tent with  the  constraint  under  which  the  most  per- 
fect modesty  lays  a  young  woman,  that  her  own  heart 
was  not  entirely  unaffected.     I  soon  found  her  ab- 

[90] 


WISDOM    AGAINST    LOVE 

sence  gave  uie  an  uneasiness  not  easy  to  be  borne  or 
to  remove.  I  now  first  applied  to  diversions  (of  the 
graver  sort,  particularly  to  music),  but  in  vain  ;  they 
rather  raised  my  desires  and  heightened  my  anguish. 
My  passion  at  length  grew  so  violent,  that  I  began 
to  think  of  satisfying  it.  As  the  first  step  to 
this,  I  cautiously  enquired  into  the  circumstances 
of  Ariadne's  parents,  with  which  I  was  hitherto  un- 
acquainted :  though,  indeed,  I  did  not  apprehend 
tlioy  were  extremely  great,  notwithstanding  the 
handsome  appearance  of  their  daughter  at  Rome, 
i^pon  examination,  her  fortune  exceeded  my  expec- 
tation, but  was  not  sufiicient  to  justify  my  marriage 
with  her,  in  the  opinion  of  the  wise  and  prudent.  I 
had  now  a  violent  struggle  between  wisdom  and  hap- 
piness, in  which,  after  several  grievous  pangs,  wisdom 
got  the  better.  I  could  by  no  means  prevail  with 
myself  to  sacrifice  that  character  of  profound  wis- 
dom, which  I  had  with  such  imiform  conduct  ob- 
tained, and  with  such  caution  hitherto  preserved.  I 
therefore  resolved  to  conc(uer  my  aflPectio)i,  whatever 
it  cost  me ;  and  indeed  it  did  not  cost  me  a  little. 

"  While  I  was  engaged  in  this  conflict  (for  it  lasted 
a  long  time)  Ariadne  returned  to  Rome  :  her  presence 
was  a  terrible  enemy  to  my  wisdom,  which  even  in  her 
absence  had  with  great  difficulty  stood  its  ground. 
It  eeems  (as  she  hath  since  told  me  in  Elysium  with 
much  merriment)  I  had  made  the  same  impi-essions 
on  her  which  she  had  made  on  me.  Indeed,  I  believe 
my  wisdom  would  have  been  totally  subdued  by  this 
surprize,  had  it  not  cunningly  suggested  to  me  a 
method  of  satisfying  my  passion  without  doing  any 

[91] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

injury  to  my  reputation.  This  was  by  engaging  her 
privately  as  a  niisti'ess,  which  was  at  that  time  repu- 
table enough  at  Rome,  provided  the  affair  was  man- 
aged with  an  air  of  slyness  and  gravity,  though  the 
secret  was  known  to  the  whole  city. 

"I  immediately  set  about  this  project,  and  em- 
ployed every  art  and  engine  to  eft'ect  it.  I  had 
particularly  bribed  her  priest,  and  an  old  female 
acquaintance  and  distant  relation  of  her's,  into  my 
interest :  but  all  was  in  vain ;  her  virtue  opj)osed 
the  passion  in  her  breast  as  strongly  as  wisdom  had 
opposed  it  in  mine.  She  received  my  proposals  with 
the  utmost  disdain,  and  presently  refused  to  see  or 
hear  from  me  any  more. 

"  She  returned  again  to  Naples,  and  left  me  in  a 
worse  condition  than  before.  My  days  I  now  passed 
with  the  most  irksome  uneasiness,  and  my  nights 
were  restless  and  sleepless.  The  story  of  our  amour 
was  now  pretty  public,  and  the  ladies  talked  of  our 
match  as  certain  ;  but  my  acquaintance  denied  their 
assent,  saying,  '  No,  no,  he  is  too  wise  to  marry  so 
imprudently.'  This  their  opinion  gave  me,  I  own, 
very  great  pleasure ;  but,  to  say  the  truth,  scarce 
compensated  the  pangs  I  suffered  to  preserve  it. 

"  One  day,  while  I  was  balancing  with  myself,  and 
had  almost  resolved  to  enjoy  my  happiness  at  the 
price  of  my  character,  a  friend  brought  me  word  that 
Ariadne  was  married.  This  news  struck  me  to  the 
soul ;  and  though  I  had  resolution  enough  to  main- 
tain iny  gravity  before  him  (for  which  I  suffered  not 
a  little  the  more),  the  moment  I  was  alone  I  threw 
myself  into  the  most  violent  fit  of  despair,  and  would 

[92] 


AN    UNHAPPY    MARRIAGE 

willingly  have  parted  with  wisdom,  fortune,  and 
everything  else,  to  have  retrieved  her ;  but  that  was 
impossible,  and  I  had  now  nothing  but  time  to  hope 
a  cure  from.  This  was  very  tedious  in  performing 
it,  and  the  longer  as  Ariadne  had  married  a  Roman 
cavalier,  was  now  become  my  near  neiglibour,  and  I 
had  the  mortification  of  seeing  her  make  the  best  of 
wives,  and  of  having  the  happiness  which  I  had  lost, 
every  day  before  my  eyes. 

"  If  I  suffered  so  much  on  account  of  ray  wisdom 
in  having  refused  Ariadne,  I  was  not  much  more 
obliged  to  it  for  procuring  me  a  rich  widow,  who 
was  recommended  to  me  by  an  old  friend  as  a  veiT 
prudent  match ;  and,  indeed,  so  it  was,  her  fortune 
being  superior  to  mine  in  the  same  proportion  as 
that  of  Ariadne  had  been  inferior.  I  therefore  em- 
braced this  proposal,  and  my  character  of  wisdom 
soon  pleaded  so  effectually  for  me  with  the  widow, 
who  was  herself  a  woman  of  great  gravity  and  dis- 
cretion, that  I  soon  succeeded ;  and  as  soon  as  de- 
cency would  permit  (of  which  this  lady  was  the 
strictest  observer)  we  were  married,  being  the  second 
day  of  the  second  week  of  the  second  year  after  her 
husband's  death  ;  for  she  said  she  thought  some  period 
of  time  above  the  year  had  a  great  air  of  decorum. 

"But,  prudent  as  this  lady  was,  she  made  me 
miserable.  Her  person  was  far  from  being  lovely, 
but  her  temper  was  intolerable.  During  fifteen 
years'*  habitation,  I  never  passed  a  single  day  with- 
out heartilv  cursinsj  her,  and  the  hour  in  which  we 
came  together.  The  only  comfort  I  received,  in  the 
midst  of  the  highest  torments,  was  from  continually 

[93] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

hearing  the  prudence  of  my  match  commended  by 
all  my   acquaintance. 

"  Thus  you  see,  in  the  affairs  of  love,  I  bought  the 
reputation  of  wisdom  pretty  dear.  In  other  matters 
I  had  it  somewhat  cheaper  ;  not  that  hypocrisy,  which 
was  the  price  I  gave  for  it,  gives  one  no  pain.  I  have 
refused  myself  a  thousand  little  anmsements  with  a 
feigned  contempt,  while  I  have  really  had  an  incli- 
nation to  then).  I  have  often  almost  choaked  my- 
self to  restrain  from  laughing  at  a  jest,  and  (which 
w^as  perhaps  to  myself  the  least  hurtful  of  all  my 
hypocrisy)  have  heartily  enjoyed  a  book  in  my  closet 
which  I  have  spoken  with  detestation  of  in  public. 
To  sum  up  my  history  in  short,  as  I  had  few  ad- 
ventures worth  remembering,  my  whole  life  was  one 
constant  lie ;  and  happy  would  it  have  been  for  me 
if  I  could  as  thoroughly  have  imposed  on  myself  as 
I  did  on  others :  for  reflection,  at  every  turn,  would 
often  remind  me  I  was  not  so  wise  as  people  thought 
me  ;  and  this  considerably  embittered  the  pleasure  I 
received  from  the  public  connnendation  of  my  wis- 
dom. This  self-admonition,  like  a  memmto  mori  or 
martalis  es,  must  be,  in  my  opinion,  a  very  danger- 
ous enemy  to  flattery  :  indeed,  a  weight  sufficient  to 
counterbalance  all  the  false  praise  of  the  world. 
But  whether  it  be  that  tlie  generality  of  wise  men 
do  not  reflect  at  all,  or  whether  they  have,  from  a 
constant  imposition  on  others,  contracted  such  a 
habit  of  deceit  as  to  deceive  themselves,  I  will  not 
determine  :  it  is,  I  believe,  most  certain  that  very 
few  wise  men  know  themselves  what  fools  they  are, 
more  than  the  world  doth.     Good  gods !  could  one 

[94] 


A    LEGACY 

but  see  what  passes  in  the  closet  of  wisdom  !  how 
ridiculous  a  sight  must  it  be  to  behold  the  wise  man, 
who  despises  gratifying  his  palate,  devouring  custard  ; 
the  sober  wise  man  with  his  dram-bottle  ;  or,  the 
anti-carnalist  (if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression) 
chuckling  over  a  b — dy  book  or  picture,  and  per- 
haps caressing  his  housemaid ! 

"  But  to  conclude  a  character  in  whicli  I  ap- 
prehend I  made  as  absurd  a  figure  as  in  any  in 
which  I  trod  the  stage  of  earth,  mv  wisdom  at 
last  put  an  end  to  itself,  that  is,  occasioned  my 
dissolution. 

"  A  relation  of  mine  in  the  eastern  part  of  the 
empire  disinherited  his  son,  and  left  me  his  heir. 
This  happened  in  the  depth  of  winter,  when  I  was  in 
my  grand  climacteric,  and  had  just  recovered  of  a 
dangerous  disease.  As  I  had  all  the  reason  imagin- 
able to  apprehend  the  family  of  the  deceased  would 
conspire  against  me,  and  embezzle  as  much  as  they 
could,  I  advised  with  a  grave  and  wise  friend  what 
was  proper  to  be  done  ;  whether  I  should  go  myself, 
or  employ  a  notary  on  this  occasion,  and  defer  my 
journey  to  the  spring.  To  say  the  truth,  I  was 
most  inclined  to  the  latter;  the  rather  as  my  cir- 
cumstances were  exti'emely  flourishing,  as  I  was  ad- 
vanced in  years,  and  had  not  one  person  in  the  world 
to  whom  I  should  with  pleasure  bequeath  any  for- 
tune at  my  death. 

"  My  friend  told  me  he  thought  my  question  ad- 
mitted of  no  manner  of  doubt  or  debate  ;  that  com- 
mon prudence  absolutely  required  my  immediate 
departure  ;  adding,  that  if  the  same  good  luck  had 

.      [95] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

happened  to  him  he  would  have  been  already  on  his 
journey  ;  '  for,'  continued  he,  '  a  man  who  knows  the 
world  so  well  as  you,  would  be  inexcusable  to  give 
persons  such  an  opportunity  of  cheating  you,  who, 
you  must  be  assured,  will  be  too  well  inclined  ;  and 
as  for  employing  a  notary,  remember  that  excellent 
maxim,  Ne  facias  per  alium,  quod  fieri  potest  per  te. 
I  own  the  badness  of  the  season  and  your  very  late 
recovery  are  unlucky  ciirumstances ;  but  a  wise  nmn 
must  get  over  difficulties  when  necessity  obliges  him 
to  encounter  them.' 

"  I  was  immediately  determined  by  this  opinion. 
The  duty  of  a  wise  man  made  an  irresistible  impres- 
sion, and  I  took  the  necessity  for  granted  without 
examination.  I  accordingly  set  forward  the  next 
morning  ;  very  tempestuous  weather  soon  overtook 
me ;  I  had  not  travelled  three  days  before  I  relapsed 
into  my  fever,  and  died. 

"  I  was  now  as  cruelly  disappointed  by  Minos  as 
I  had  formerly  been  happily  so.  I  advanced  with  the 
utmost  confidence  to  the  gate,  and  really  imagined 
I  should  have  been  admitted  by  the  wisdom  of  my 
countenance,  even  without  any  questions  asked  :  but 
this  was  not  my  case ;  and,  to  my  great  surprize, 
Minos,  with  a  menacing  voice,  called  out  to  me, 
'  You  Mr.  there,  with  the  grave  countenance,  whither 
so  fast,  pray  ?  Will  you  please,  before  you  move  any 
farther  forwards,  to  give  me  a  short  account  of  your 
transactions  below  ?  '  I  then  began,  and  recounted 
to  him  my  whole  history,  still  expecting  at  the  end 
of  every  period  that  the  gate  would  be  ordered  to 
fly  open  ;    but  I  was  obliged  to  go  quite  through 

[96] 


TOO    WISE    TO    BE    HAPPY 

with  it,  and  then  ]\Iinos  after  some  Httle  considera- 
tion spoke  to  nie  as  follows  :  — 

"  '  You,  Mr.  Wiseman,  stand  forth  if  you  please. 
Believe  me,  sir,  a  trip  back  again  to  earth  will  be 
one  of  the  wisest  steps  you  ever  took,  and  really 
more  to  the  honour  of  your  wisdom  than  any  vou 
have  hitherto  taken.  On  the  other  side,  nothing 
could  be  simpler  than  to  endeavour  at  Elysium  ;  for 
who  but  a  fool  would  caiTy  a  commodity,  which  is  of 
such  infinite  value  in  one  place,  into  another  where  it 
is  of  none  ?  But,  without  attempting  to  offend  vour 
gi-avity  with  a  jest,  you  must  return  to  the  place 
from  whence  vou  came,  for  Elvsium  was  never  de- 
signed for  those  who  are  too  wise  to  be  happy.' 

"  This  sentence  confounded  me  greatly,  especially 
as  it  seemed  to  threaten  me  with  carrying  my  wis- 
dom back  again  to  earth.  I  told  the  judge,  though 
he  would  not  admit  nic  at  the  gate,  I  hoped  I  had 
committed  no  crime  while  alive  which  merited  my 
being  wise  any  longer.  He  answered  me,  I  must 
take  my  chance  as  to  that  matter,  and  immediately 
we  turned  our  backs  to  each  other." 


VOL.  I.  —7  [  97  J 


CHAPTER   SEVENTEEN 

JULIAN    ENTERS    INTO    THE    PERSON    OF    A    KING. 

I  WAS  now  born  at  Oviedo  in  Spain.  My 
father's  name  was  Vereniond,  and  I  was 
adopted  by  my  uncle  king  Alphonso  the  chaste. 
I  don"'t  recollect  in  all  the  pilgrimages  I  have 
made  on  earth  that  I  ever  past  a  more  miserable  in- 
fancy than  now  ;  being  under  the  utmost  confine- 
ment and  restraint,  and  surrounded  with  physicians 
who  were  ever  dosing  me,  and  tutors  who  were  con- 
tinually plaguing  me  with  their  instructions ;  even 
those  hours  of  leisure  which  my  inclination  would 
have  spent  in  play  were  allotted  to  tedious  pomp 
and  ceremony,  which,  at  an  age  wherein  I  had  no 
ambition  to  enjoy  the  servility  of  courtiers,  enslaved 
me  more  than  it  could  the  meanest  of  them.  How- 
ever, as  I  advanced  towards  manhood,  my  condition 
made  me  some  amends;  for  the  most  beautiful  wo- 
men of  their  own  accord  threw  out  lures  for  me, 
and  I  had  the  happiness,  which  no  man  in  an 
inferior  degree  can  arrive  at,  of  enjoying  the  most 
delicious  creatures,  without  the  previous  and  tiresome 
ceremonies  of  courtship,  unless  with  the  most  simple, 
young,  and  unexperienced.  As  for  the  court  ladies, 
they  regarded  me  rather  as  men  do  the  most  lovely 
of  the  other  sex ;  and,  though   thev  outwardly  re- 

[98] 


JULIAN    A    KING 

tained  some  appearance  of  modesty,  they  in  reality 
rather  considered  themselves  as  receiving  than  con- 
ferring favours. 

"Another  happiness  I  enjoyed  was  in  conferring 
favours  of  another  sort ;  for,  as  I  was  extremely  good- 
natured  and  generous,  so  I  had  daily  opportunities  of 
satisfying  those  passions.  Besides  my  own  princely 
allowance,  which  was  very  bountiful,  and  with  which 
I  did  many  liberal  and  good  actions,  I  recommended 
numberless  persons  of  merit  in  distress  to  the  king's 
notice,  most  of  whom  were  provided  for.  Indeed, 
had  I  sufficiently  known  my  blest  situation  at  this 
time,  I  should  have  grieved  at  nothing  more  than  the 
death  of  Alphonso,  by  which  the  burden  of  gov- 
ernment devolved  upon  me ;  but,  so  blindly  fond  is 
ambition,  and  such  charms  doth  it  fancy  in  the  power 
and  pomp  and  splendour  of  a  crown,  that,  though  I 
vehemently  loved  that  king,  and  had  the  greatest 
obligations  to  him,  the  thoughts  of  succeeding  him 
obliterated  my  regret  at  his  loss,  and  the  wish  for  my 
approaching  coronation  dried  my  eyes  at  his  funeral. 

"  But  my  fondness  for  the  name  of  king  did  not 
make  me  forgetful  of  those  over  whom  I  was  to  reign. 
I  considered  them  in  the  light  in  which  a  tender  father 
regards  his  children,  as  persons  whose  wellbeing  God 
had  intrusted  to  my  care ;  and  again,  in  that  in  which 
a  prudent  lord  respects  his  tenants,  as  those  on  whose 
wealth  and  grandeur  he  is  to  build  his  own.  Both 
these  considerations  inspired  me  with  the  greatest 
care  for  their  welfare,  and  their  good  was  my  first 
and  ultimate  concern. 

♦'The    usurper  Mauregas  had   impiously  obliged 

[99] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

himself  and  his  successors  to  pay  to  the  Moors  every 
year  an  infamous  tribute  of  an  hundred  young 
virgins  :  from  this  cruel  and  scandalous  imposition  I 
resolved  to  relieve  my  country.  Accordingly,  when 
their  emperor  Abderames  the  second  had  the  auda- 
ciousness to  make  this  demand  of  me,  instead  of 
complying  with  it  I  ordered  his  ambassadors  to  be 
driven  away  with  all  imaginable  ignominy,  and  would 
have  condennied  them  to  death,  could  I  have  done 
it  without  a  manifest  violation  of  the  law  of  nations. 

"  I  now  raised  an  immense  army  ;  at  the  levying 
of  which  I  made  a  speech  from  my  throne,  acquaint- 
ing my  subjects  with  the  necessity  and  the  reasons 
of  the  war  in  which  I  was  going  to  engage :  which 
I  convinced  them  I  had  undertaken  for  their  ease  and 
safety,  and  not  for  satisfying  any  wanton  ambition, 
or  revenging  any  private  pique  of  my  own.  They  all 
declared  unanimously  that  they  would  venture  their 
lives  and  everything  dear  to  them  in  my  defence, and 
in  the  support  of  the  honour  of  my  crown.  Accord- 
ingly, my  levies  were  instantly  complete,  sufficient 
numbei-s  being  only  left  to  till  the  land ;  churchmen, 
even  bishops  themselves,  enlisting  themselves  under 
my  banners, 

"The  armies  met  at  Alvelda,  where  we  were  dis- 
comfited with  immense  loss,  and  nothing  but  the 
lucky  intervention  of  the  night  could  have  saved 
our  whole  army. 

"  I  retreated  to  the  summit  of  a  hill,  where  I  aban- 
doned myself  to  the  highest  agonies  of  grief,  not  so 
much  for  the  danger  in  which  I  then  saw  my  crown, 
as  for  the  loss  of  those  miserable  wretches  who  had 

[100] 


PRETENCE    OF    A    VISION 

exposed  their  lives  at  my  command.  I  could  not 
then  avoid  this  reflection  —  that,  if  the  deaths  of 
these  people  in  a  war  undertaken  absolutely  for  their 
protection  could  give  me  such  concern,  what  horror 
must  I  have  felt  if,  like  princes  greedy  of  dominion, 
I  had  sacrificed  such  numbers  to  my  own  pride, 
vanity,  and  ridiculous  lust  of  power. 

"  After  having  vented  my  sorrows  for  some  time 
in  this  manner,  I  began  to  consider  by  what  means 
I  mit;ht  possibly  endeavour  to  retrieve  this  mis- 
fortune ;  when,  reflecting  on  the  great  number  of 
priests  I  had  in  my  army,  and  on  the  prodigious 
force  of  superstition,  a  thought  luckily  suggested  it- 
self to  me,  to  counterfeit  that  St.  James  had  appeared 
to  me  in  a  vision,  and  had  promised  me  the  victory. 
While  I  was  ruminating  on  this  the  bishop  of  Najara 
came  opportunely  to  me.  As  I  did  not  intend  to 
communicate  the  secret  to  him,  I  took  another 
method,  and,  instead  of  answering  anything  the 
bishop  said  to  me,  I  pretended  to  talk  to  St.  James, 
as  if  he  had  been  really  present ;  till  at  length,  after 
having  spoke  those  things  which  I  thought  sufficient, 
and  thanked  the  saint  aloud  for  his  promise  of  the 
victory,  I  turned  about  to  the  bishop,  and,  embracing 
him  with  a  pleased  countenance,  protested  I  did  not 
know  he  was  present ;  and  then,  informing  him  of 
this  supposed  vision,  I  asked  him  if  he  had  not  him- 
self seen  the  saint  ?  He  answered  me  he  had  ;  and 
afterwards  proceeded  to  assure  jne  that  this  ap- 
pearance of  St.  James  was  entirely  owing  to  his 
prayei*s ;  for  that  he  was  his  tutelar  saint.  He 
added  he  had  a  vision  of  him  a  few  hours  before, 

[  101  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

when  he  promised  him  a  victory  over  the  infidels, 
and  acquainted  him  at  the  same  time  of  the  vacancy 
of  the  see  of  Toledo.  Now,  this  news  being  really 
true,  though  it  had  happened  so  lately  that  I  had 
not  heard  of  it  (nor,  indeed,  was  it  well  possible  I 
should,  considering  the  great  distance  of  the  way), 
when  I  was  afterwards  acquainted  with  it,  a  little 
staggered  me,  though  far  from  being  superstitious  ; 
till  being  informed  that  the  bishop  had  lost  three 
horses  on  a  late  expedition,  I  was  satisfied. 

"  The  next  morning,  the  bishop,  at  my  desire, 
mounted  the  rostrum,  and  trumpeted  forth  tliis 
vision  so  effectually,  which  he  said  he  had  that 
evening  twice  seen  with  his  own  eyes,  that  a  spirit 
began  to  be  infused  through  the  whole  army  which 
rendered  them  superior  to  almost  any  force :  the 
bishop  insisted  that  the  least  douljt  of  success  was 
giving  the  lie  to  the  saint,  and  a  damnable  sin,  and 
he  took  upon  him  in  his  name  to  promise  them 
victory. 

"  The  army  being  drawn  out,  I  soon  experienced 
the  effect  of  enthusiasm,  for,  having  contrived  an- 
other stratagem  ^  to  strengthen  what  the  bishop  had 
said,  the  soldiers  fought  more  like  furies  than  men. 
My  stratagem  was  this  :  I  had  about  me  a  dexterous 
fellow,  who  had  been  formerly  a  pimp  in  my  amours. 
Him  I  drest  up  in  a  strange  antick  dress,  with  a  pair 
of  white  colours  in  his  right  hand,  a  red  cross  in  his 
left,  and  having  disguised  him  so  that  no  one  could 

1  This  silly  story  is  told  as  a  solemn  truth  (i.e.,  that  St 
James  really  appeared  in  the  manner  this  fellow  is  described) 
by  Mariana,  I.  7,  §  78. 

[  102] 


VICTORY    IN    BATTLE 

know  him,  I  placed  him  on  a  white  horse,  and  ordered 
him  to  ride  to  the  head  of  the  army,  and  cry  out, 
'  Follow  St.  James  ! '  These  words  were  reiterated  by 
all  the  troops,  who  attacked  the  enemy  with  such 
intrepidity,  that,  notwithstanding  our  inferiority  of 
numbers,  we  soon  obtained  a  complete  victory. 

"  The  bishop  was  come  up  by  the  time  that  the 
enemy  was  routed,  and,  acquainting  us  that  he  had 
met  St.  James  by  the  way,  and  that  he  had  informed 
him  of  what  had  past,  he  added  that  he  had  express 
orders  from  the  saint  to  receive  a  considerable  sum 
for  his  use,  and  that  a  certain  tax  on  corn  and  wine 
should  be  settled  on  his  church  for  ever ;  and  lastly, 
that  a  horseman's  pay  should  be  allowed  for  the  fu- 
ture to  the  saint  himself,  of  which  he  and  his  succes- 
sors were  appointed  receivers.  The  army  received 
these  demands  with  such  acclamations  that  I  was 
obliged  to  comply  with  them,  as  I  could  by  no 
means  discover  the  imposition,  nor  do  I  believe  I 
should  have  gained  any  credit  if  I  had. 

"  I  had  now  done  with  the  saint,  but  the  bishop 
had  not ;  for  about  a  week  afterwards  lights  were 
seen  in  a  wood  near  where  the  battle  was  fought ; 
and  in  a  short  time  afterwards  they  discovered  his 
tomb  at  the  same  place.  Upon  this  the  bishop  made 
me  a  visit,  and  forced  me  to  go  thither,  to  build  a 
chvurh  to  him,  and  lai'gely  endow  it.  In  a  word,  the 
good  man  so  plagued  me  with  miracle  after  miracle, 
that  I  was  forced  to  make  interest  with  the  pope  to 
convey  him  to  Toledo,  to  get  rid  of  him. 

"  But  to  proceed  to  other  matters.  — There  was  an 
inferior  officer,  who  had  behaved  very  bravely  in  the 

[  103  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

battle  against  the  Moors,  and  had  received  several 
wounds,  who  solicited  me  for  preferment ;  which  I 
was  about  to  confer  on  him,  when  one  of  my  minis- 
ters came  to  me  in  a  fright,  and  told  me  that  he  had 
promised  the  post  I  designed  for  this  ipan  to  the  son 
of  count  Alderedo ;  and  that  the  count,  who  was  a 
powerful  person,  would  be  greatly  disobliged  at  the 
refusal,  as  he  had  sent  for  his  son  from  school  to 
take  possession  of  it.  I  was  obliged  to  agree  with 
mv  minister's  reasons,  and  at  the  same  time  recom- 
mended the  wounded  soldier  to  be  prefened  by  him, 
which  he  faithfully  promised  he  would  ;  but  I  met 
the  poor  wretch  since  in  Elysium,  who  informed  ine 
he  was  afterwards  starved  to  death, 

"  None  who  hath  not  been  himself  a  prince,  nor 
any  prince  till  his  death,  can  conceive  the  impositions 
dailv  put  on  them  by  their  favourites  and  ministei-s ; 
so  that  princes  are  often  blamed  for  the  faults  of 
others.  The  count  of  Saldagne  had  been  long  con- 
fined in  prison,  when  his  son  D.  Bernard  del  Carpio, 
who  had  performed  the  greatest  actions  against  the 
Moors,  entreated  me,  as  a  reward  for  his  service,  to 
grant  him  his  father's  liberty.  The  old  man's  pun- 
ishment had  been  so  tedious,  and  the  services  of  the 
young  one  sq  singularly  eminent,  that  I  was  very 
inclinable  to  grant  the  request ;  but  my  ministers 
strongly  opposed  it ;  they  told  me  my  glory  de- 
manded revenge  for  the  dishonour  offered  to  my 
family ;  that  so  positive  a  demand  carried  with  it 
rather  the  air  of  menace  than  entreaty  :  that  the 
vain  detail  of  his  services,  and  the  recompense  due 
to  them,  was  an  injurious  reproach;  that  to  grant 

[  104  ] 


AN    UNJUST    OPINION 

what  had  been  so  haughtily  demanded  would  arsrue 
in  the  monarch  both  weakness  and  timidity;  in  a 
word,  that  to  remit  the  punishment  inflicted  by  my 
predecessors  would  be  to  condemn  their  judgment. 
Lastly,  one  told  me  in  a  whisper,  '  His  whole  family 
are  enemies  to  your  house.""  By  these  means  the  min- 
isters prevailed.  The  young  lord  took  the  refusal 
so  ill,  that  he  retired  from  court,  and  abandoned 
himself  to  despair,  whilst  the  old  one  languished  in 
prison.  By  which  means,  as  I  have  since  discovered, 
I  lost  the  use  of  two  of  mv  best  subjects. 

"  To  confess  the  truth,  I  had,  by  means  of  my 
ministers,  conceived  a  very  unjust  opinion  of  my 
whole  people,  whom  I  fancied  to  be  daily  conspir- 
ing against  me,  and  to  entertain  the  most  disloyal 
thoughts,  when,  in  reality  (as  I  have  known  since  my 
death),  they  held  me  in  universal  respect  and  esteem. 
This  is  a  trick,  I  believe,  too  often  played  with  sov- 
ereigns, who,  by  sucli  means,  are  prevented  from  that 
open  intercourse  with  their  subjects  which,  as  it 
would  greatly  endear  the  person  of  the  pi-ince  to 
the  people,  so  miglit  it  often  prove  dangerous  to  a 
minister  who  was  consulting  his  own  interest  only  at 
the  expense  of  both.  I  believe  I  have  now  recounted 
to  you  the  most  material  passages  of  my  life  ;  for  I 
assure  you  there  are  some  incidents  in  the  lives  of 
kings  not  extremely  worth  relating.  Everything 
which  passes  in  their  minds  and  foniilies  is  not  at- 
tended with  the  splendour  wliich  surrounds  their 
throne  —  indeed,  there  are  some  hours  whei'ein  the 
naked  king  and  the  naked  cobbler  can  scarce  be  dis- 
tinguished from  each  other. 

[105] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

"  Had  it  not  been,  however,  for  my  ingratitude  to 
Bernard  del  Carpio,  I  believe  this  would  have  been 
my  last  pilgrimage  on  earth  ;  for,  as  to  the  story  of 
St.  James,  I  thought  Minos  would  have  burst  his 
sides  at  it ;  but  he  was  so  displeased  with  me  on  the 
other  account,  that,  with  a  frown,  he  cried  out,  '  Get 
thee  back  again,  king,'  Nor  would  he  suffer  me  to 
say  another  word." 


[106] 


CHAPTER   EIGHTEEN 

JULIAN    PASSES    INTO    A    FOOL. 

THE  next  visit  I  made  to  the  world  was 
performed  in  France,  where  I  was  born 
in  the  court  of  Lewis  HI.,  and  had 
afterwards  the  honour  to  be  preferred 
to  be  fool  to  the  pinnce,  who  was  surnamed  Charles 
the  Simple.  But,  in  reality,  I  know  not  whether  I 
might  so  properly  be  said  to  have  acted  the  fool  in 
his  court  as  to  have  made  fools  of  all  others  in  it. 
Certain  it  is,  I  was  very  far  from  being  what  is  gen- 
erally understood  by  that  word,  being  a  most  cun- 
ning, designing,  arch  knave.  I  knew  very  well  the 
folly  of  my  master,  and  of  many  others,  and  how  to 
make  my  advantage  of  this  knowledge. 

"I  was  as  dear  to  Charles  the  Simple  as  the  player 
Paris  was  to  Domitian,  and,  like  him,  bestowed  all 
manner  of  offices  and  honours  on  whom  I  pleased. 
This  drew  me  a  great  number  of  followers  among 
the  courtiers,  who  really  mistook  me  for  a  fool,  and 
yet  flattered  my  understanding.  There  was  particu- 
larly in  the  court  a  fellow  who  had  neither  honour, 
honesty,  sense,  wit,  courage,  beauty,  nor  indeed  any 
one  good  quality,  either  of  mind  or  body,  to  recom- 
mend him  ;  but  was  at  the  same  time,  perhaps,  as 
cunning  a  monster  as  ever  lived.      This  gentleman 

[lOTJ 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

took  it  into  liis  head  to  list  under  my  banner,  and 
pursued  me  so  very  assiduously  with  flattery,  con- 
stantly reminding  me  of  my  good  sense,  that  I  grew 
immoderately  fond  of  him  ;  for  though  flattery  is 
not  most  judiciously  applied  to  qualities  which  the 
persons  flattered  possess,  yet  as,  notwithstanding  my 
being  well  assured  of  my  own  parts,  I  past  in  the 
whole  court  for  a  fool,  this  flattery  was  a  very  sweet 
morsel  to  me.  I  therefore  got  this  fellow  preferred 
to  a  bishopric,  but  I  lost  my  flatterer  by  it ;  for  he 
never  afterwards  said  a  civil  thing  to  me. 

"  I  never  baulked  my  imagination  for  the  gross- 
ness  of  the  reflection  on  the  character  of  the  greatest 
noble  —  nay,  even  the  king  himself;  of  which  I  will 
give  you  a  very  bold  instance.  One  day  his  simple 
majesty  told  me  he  believed  I  had  so  much  power 
that  his  people  looked  on  me  as  the  king,  and  him- 
self as  my  fool.  At  this  I  pretended  to  be  angry,  as 
with  an  affront.  '  Why,  how  now  .? '  says  the  king  ; 
'  are  you  ashamed  of  being  a  king  ?  "*  '  No,  sir,' 
says  I,  '  but  I  am  devilishly  ashamed  of  my  fool.' 

"  Herbert,  earl  of  Vermandois,  had  by  my  means 
been  restored  to  the  favour  of  the  Simple  (for  so  I 
used  always  tQ  call  Charles).  He  afterwards  pre- 
vailed with  the  king  to  take  the  city  of  Arras  from 
earl  Baldwin,  by  which  means,  Herbert,  in  exchange 
for  this  city,  had  Pcroime  restored  to  him  by  count 
Altmar.  Baldwin  came  to  court  in  order  to  procure 
the  restoration  of  his  city  ;  but,  either  through  pride 
or  ignorance,  neglected  to  apply  to  me.  As  I  met 
him  at  court  during  his  solicitation,  I  told  him  he 
did  not  ap^ily  the  right  way  ;  he  answered  roughly 

[108] 


JULIAN  PASSES  INTO  A  FOOL 

he  should  not  ask  a  fooFs  advice.  I  i-eplied  I  did 
not  wonder  at  his  prejudice,  since  he  had  miscarried 
ah-eady  by  following  a  foors  advice  ;  but  I  told  him 
there  were  fools  who  had  more  interest  than  that  he 
liad  brought  with  him  to  court.  He  answered  me 
surlily  he  had  no  fool  with  him,  for  that  he  travelled 
alone.  '  Ay,  my  lord,'  says  I,  '  I  often  travel  alone, 
and  yet  they  will  have  it  I  always  carry  a  fool  with 
me."*  This  raised  a  laugh  among  the  bystanders, 
on  which  he  gave  me  a  blow.  I  immediately  com- 
plained of  this  usage  to  the  Simple,  who  dismissed 
the  earl  from  court  with  very  hard  words,  instead  of 
granting  him  the  favour  he  solicited. 

"  I  give  you  these  rather  as  a  specimen  of  my  in- 
terest and  impudence  than  of  my  wit  —  indeed,  my 
jests  were  commonly  more  admired  than  they  ought 
to  be  ;  for  perhaps  I  was  not  in  reality  much  more 
a  wit  than  a  fool.  But,  with  the  latitude  of  un- 
bounded scurrility,  it  is  easy  enough  to  attain  the 
character  of  wit,  especially  in  a  court,  where,  as  all 
persons  hate  and  envy  one  another  heartily,  and  are 
at  the  same  time  obliged  by  the  coiistrained  behav- 
iour of  civility  to  profess  the  greatest  liking,  so  it  is, 
and  must  be,  wonderfully  pleasant  to  them  to  see 
the  follies  of  their  acquaintance  exposed  by  a  third 
person.  Besides,  the  opinion  of  the  courf  is  as  uni- 
form as  the  fashion,  and  is  always  guided  bv  the  will 
of  the  prince  or  of  the  ftivourite.  I  doubt  not  that 
Caligula's  horse  was  universally  held  in  his  court  to  be 
a  good  and  able  consul.  In  the  same  manner  was  I 
universally  acknowledged  to  be  the  wittiest  fool  in 
the  world.     Every  woi'd  I  said  raised  laughter,  and 

[  109  ] 


THIS    WORLD  TO    THE    NEXT 

was  held  to  be  a  jest,  especially  by  the  ladies,  who 
sometimes  laughed  before  I  had  discovered  my  senti- 
ment, and  often  repeated  that  as  a  jest  which  I  did 
not  even  intend  as  one, 

"  I  was  as  severe  on  the  ladies  as  on  the  men,  and 
with  the  same  impunity  ;  but  this  at  last  cost  me 
dear  :  for  once  having  joked  on  the  beauty  of  a  lady 
whose  name  was  Adelaide,  a  favourite  of  the  Sim- 
ple's, she  pretended  to  smile  and  be  pleased  at  my 
wit  with  the  rest  of  the  company  ;  but  in  reality  she 
highly  resented  it,  and  endeavoured  to  undermine 
me  with  the  king.  In  which  she  so  greatly  succeeded 
(for  what  cannot  a  favourite  woman  do  with  one 
who  deserves  the  surname  of  Simple  ?)  that  the  king 
grew  every  day  more  reserved  to  me,  and  when  I 
attempted  any  freedom  gave  me  such  marks  of  his 
displeasure,  that  the  courtiers  who  have  all  hawks' 
eyes  at  a  slight  from  the  sovereign,  soon  discerned 
it :  and  indeed,  had  I  been  blind  enough  not  to  have 
discovered  that  I  had  lost  ground  in  the  Simple's 
favour  by  his  own  change  in  his  carriage  towards  me, 
I  must  have  found  it,  nay  even  felt  it,  in  the  behav- 
iour of  the  courtiers  :  for,  as  my  company  was  two 
days  before  solicited  with  the  utmost  eagerness,  it 
was  now  rejected  with  as  much  scorn,  I  was  now 
the  jest  of  the  ushers  and  pages  ;  and  an  officer  of 
the  guards,  on  whom  I  was  a  little  jocose,  gave  me 
a  box  on  the  ear,  bidding  me  make  free  with  my 
equals.  This  very  fellow  liad  been  my  butt  for 
many  years,  without  daring  to  lift  his  hand  against 
me. 

"But  though  I  visibly  perceived  the  alteration  in 

[110] 


UNPOPULARITY    AT    COURT 

the  Simple,  I  was  utterly  unable  to  make  any  guess 
at  the  occasion.  I  had  not  the  least  suspicion  of 
Adelaide ;  for,  besides  her  being  a  very  good- 
humoured  woman,  I  had  often  made  severe  jests 
on  her  reputation,  which  I  had  all  the  reason  im- 
aginable to  believe  had  given  her  no  offence.  But  I 
soon  perceived  that  a  woman  will  bear  the  most 
bitter  censures  on  her  morals  easier  than  the  small- 
est reflection  on  her  beauty ;  for  she  now  declared 
publicly,  that  I  ought  to  be  dismissed  from  court,  as 
the  stupidest  of  fools,  and  one  in  whom  there  was  no 
diversion  ;  and  that  she  wondered  how  any  person 
could  have  so  little  taste  as  to  imagine  I  had  any 
wit.  This  speech  was  echoed  through  the  drawing- 
room,  and  agreed  to  by  all  present.  Every  one  now 
put  on  an  unusual  gravity  on  their  countenance 
whenever  I  spoke  ;  and  it  was  as  much  out  of  my 
power  to  raise  a  laugh  as  formerly  it  had  been  for 
me  to  open  my  mouth  without  one. 

"  While  my  affairs  were  in  this  posture  I  went  one 
day  into  the  circle  without  my  fooPs  dress.  The 
Simple,  who  would  still  speak  to  me,  cried  out,  '  So, 
fool,  what 's  the  matter  now  ? '  '  Sir,'  answered  I, 
'  fools  are  like  to  be  so  common  a  commodity  at 
court,  that  I  am  weary  of  my  coat.'  '  How  dost 
thou  mean  ?""  answered  the  Simple  ;  '  what  can  make 
them  commoner  now  than  usual.? '  —  <  O,  sir,'  said  I, 
'there  are  ladies  here  make  your  majesty  a  fool  every 
day  of  their  lives.'  The  Simple  took  no  notice  of 
my  jest,  and  several  present  said  my  bones  ought  to 
be  broke  for  my  impudence  ;  but  it  pleased  the  queen, 
who,  knowing  Adelaide,  whom  she  hated,  to  be  the 

[111] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

cause  of  my  disgrace,  obtained  nie  of  the  king,  and 
took  me  into  her  service  ;  so  that  I  was  henceforth 
called  the  queen's  fool,  and  in  her  court  received  the 
same  honour,  and  had  as  much  wit,  as  I  had  formerly 
had  in  the  king's.  But  as  the  queen  had  really  no 
power  unless  over  her  own  domestics,  I  was  not 
treated  in  general  with  that  complacence,  nor  did  I 
receive  those  bribes  and  presents,  which  had  once 
fallen  to  my  share. 

"  Nor  did  this  confined  respect  continue  long  :  for 
the  queen,  who  had  in  fact  no  taste  for  humour, 
soon  grew  sick  of  my  foolery,  and,  forgetting  the 
cause  for  which  she  had  taken  me,  neglected  me  so 
much,  that  her  court  grew  intolerable  to  my  temper) 
and  I  broke  my  heart  and  died. 

"  Minos  laughed  heartily  at  several  things  in  my 
story,  and  then,  telling  me  no  one  played  the  fool  in 
Elysium,  bid  me  go  back  again." 


[112] 


CHAPTER   NINETEEN 

JULIAN    APPEARS    IN    THE    CHARACTER    OF    A    BEGGAR. 

I  NOW  returned  to  Rome,  f*.nd  was  born  into  a 
very  poor  and  numerous  family,  which,  to  be 
honest  with  you,  procured  its  Hvelyhood  by 
begging.  This,  if  you  was  never  yourself  of 
the  calling,  you  do  not  know,  I  suppose,  to  be  as 
refifular  a  trade  as  any  other ;  to  have  its  several 
rules  and  secrets,  or  mysteries,  which  to  learn  require 
perhaps  as  tedious  an  apprenticeship  as  those  of  any 
craft  whatever. 

"  The  first  thing  we  are  taught  is  the  countenance 
miserable.  This  indeed  nature  makes  much  easier 
to  some  than  others ;  but  there  are  none  who  cannot 
accomplish  it,  if  they  l.agin  early  enough  in  youth, 
and  before  the  muscles  are  grown  too  stubborn. 

"The  second  thing  is  the  voice  lamentable.  In 
this  qualification  too,  nature  must  have  her  share  in 
producing  the  most  consummate  excellence  :  how- 
ever, art  will  here,  as  in  every  other  instance,  go  a 
great  way  with  industry  and  application,  even  with- 
out the  assistance  of  genius,  especially  if  the  student 
begins  young. 

"  There  are  many  other  instructions,  but  these  are 

the  most  considerable.     The  women  are  taught  one 

practice  more  than  the  men,  for  tliey  are  instructed 

in    the  art  of  crying,  that  is,  to  have   their  teal's 

V0I.I.-8  [lis] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

ready  on  all  occasions :  but  this  is  attained  very 
easily  by  most.  Some  indeed  arrive  at  the  utmost 
perfection  in  this  art  with  incredible  facility. 

"  No  profession  requires  a  deeper  insight  into 
human  nature  than  the  beggar  s.  Their  knowledge 
of  the  passions  of  men  is  so  extensive,  that  I  have 
often  thought  it  would  be  of  no  little  service  to  a 
politician  to  have  his  education  among  them.  Nay, 
there  is  a  much  greater  analogy  between  these  two 
characters  than  is  imagined ;  for  both  concur  in 
their  first  and  gr-and  principle,  it  being  equally  their 
business  to  delude  and  impose  on  mankind.  It  must 
be  confessed  that  they  differ  widely  in  the  degree  of 
advantage  which  they  make  by  their  deceit ;  for, 
whereas  the  beggar  is  contented  with  a  little,  the 
politician  leaves  but  a  little  behind. 

"  A  very  great  English  philosopher  hath  remarked 
our  policy,  in  taking  care  never  to  address  any  one 
with  a  title  inferior  to  what  he  really  claims.  My 
father  was  of  the  same  opinion  ;  for  I  remember 
when  I  was  a  boy,  the  pope  happening  to  pass  by,  I 
tended  him  with  '  Pray,  sir  ; '  '  For  God's  sake,  sir  ; ' 
'  For  the  Lord's  sake,  sir  ;  "*  —  To  which  he  answered 
gravely,  '  Sirrah,  sirrah,  you  ought  to  be  whipt  for 
takino;  the  Lord's  name  in  vain : '  and  in  vain  it  was 
indeed,  for  he  gave  me  nothing.  My  father,  over- 
hearing this,  took  his  advice,  and  whipt  me  very 
severely.  While  I  was  under  correction  I  promised 
often  never  to  take  the  Lord's  name  in  vain  any 
more.  My  father  then  said,  '  Child,  I  do  not  whip 
you  for  taking  his  name  in  vain  ;  I  whip  you  for  not 
calling  the  pope  his  holiness,' 

[114] 


TACTICS    OF    A    BEGGAR 

"  If  all  men  were  so  wise  and  good  to  follow  the 
clergy's  example,  the  nuisance  of  beggars  would  soon 
be  removed.  I  do  not  remember  to  have  been  above 
twice  relieved  by  them  during  my  whole  state  of 
beggary.  Once  was  by  a  very  well-looking  man, 
who  gave  me  a  small  piece  of  silver,  and  declared 
he  had  given  me  more  than  he  had  left  himself; 
the  other  was  by  a  spruce  young  fellow,  who  had 
that  very  day  first  put  on  his  robes,  whom  I  attended 
with  '  Fray,  reverend  sir,  good  reverend  sir,  consider 
your  cloth.''  He  answered,  '  I  do,  child,  consider  my 
office,  and  I  hope  all  our  cloth  do  the  same.""  He 
then  threw  down  some  money,  and  strutted  off  with 
great  dignity. 

"  With  the  women  I  had  one  general  formulary : 
'  Sweet  pretty  lady,' '  God  bless  your  ladyship,'  '  God 
bless  your  handsome  face.'  This  generally  succeeded ; 
but  I  observed  the  uglier  the  woman  was,  the  surer  I 
was  of  success. 

"  It  was  a  constant  maxim  among  us,  that  the 
greater  retinue  any  one  travelled  with  the  less  ex- 
pectation we  might  promise  ourselves  from  them  ; 
but  whenever  we  saw  a  vehicle  with  a  sintjle  or  no 
servant  we  imagined  our  booty  sure,  and  were  seldom 
deceived. 

"  We  observed  great  difference  introduced  by  time 
and  circumstance  in  the  same  person  ;  for  instanc^e, 
a  losing  gamester  is  sometimes  generous,  but  from 
a  winner  you  will  as  easily  obtain  his  soul  as  a  single 
groat.  A  lawyer  travelling  from  his  country  seat  to 
his  clients  at  Rome,  and  a  physician  going  to  visit  a 
patient,  were  always  worth  asking  ;  but  the  same  on 

[115] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

llieir  return  were   (according   to  our   cant  phrase) 
untouchable. 

"  The  most  general,  and  indeed  the  tiuest,  maxim 
among  us  was,  that  those  who  possessed  the  least 
were  always  the  readiest  to  give.  The  chief  art  of 
a  beggar-man  is,  therefore,  to  discern  the  rich  from 
the  poor,  which,  though  it  be  only  distinguishing 
substance  from  shadow,  is  by  no  means  attainable 
»vithout  a  pretty  good  capacity  and  a  vast  degree  of 
attention  ;  for  these  two  are  eternally  industrious  in 
endeavouring  to  counterfeit  each  other.  In  this 
deceit  the  poor  man  is  more  heartily  in  earnest  to 
deceive  you  than  the  rich,  who,  amidst  all  the  emblems 
of  poverty  which  he  puts  on,  still  permits  some  mark 
of  his  wealth  to  strike  the  eye.  Thus,  while  his 
apparel  is  not  worth  a  groat,  his  finger  wears  a  ring 
of  value,  or  his  pocket  a  gold  watch.  In  a  word,  he 
seems  rather  to  affect  poverty  to  insult  than  impose 
on  you.  Now  the  poor  man,  on  the  contrary,  is  very 
sincere  in  his  desire  of  passing  for  rich  ;  but  the  eager- 
ness of  this  desire  hurries  him  to  over-act  his  part,  and 
he  betravs  himself  as  one  who  is  drunk  by  his  over- 
acted sobriety.  Thus,  instead  of  being  attended  by 
one  servant  well  mounted,  he  will  have  two  ;  and,  not 
being  able  to  purchase  or  maintain  a  second  horse  of 
value,  one  of  his  servants  at  least  is  mounted  on  a 
hired  rascallion.  He  is  not  contented  to  go  plain  and 
neat  in  his  cloathes ;  he  therefore  claps  on  some  taw- 
dry ornament,  and  what  he  adds  to  the  fineness  of  his 
vestment  he  detracts  from  the  fineness  of  his  linnen. 
Without  descending  into  more  minute  particulars,  I 
believe  I  may  assert  it  as  an  axiom  of  indubitable 

[116] 


COMPENSATIONS    OF    BEGGARY 

truth,  that  whoever  shews  you  he  is  either  in  himself 
or  his  equipage  as  gaudy  as  he  can,  convinces  you 
he  is  more  so  than  he  can  afford.  Now,  whenever 
a  man's  expence  exceeds  his  .'iicome,  he  is  indifferent 
in  the  degree ;  we  had  therefore  nothing  more  to 
do  with  such  than  to  flatter  them  with  their  wealth 
and  splendour,  and  were  always  certain  of  success. 

"  There  is,  indeed,  one  kind  of  rich  man  who  is 
commonly  more  liberal,  namely,  where  riches  surprize 
him,  as  it  were,  in  the  midst  of  poverty  and  distress, 
the  consequence  of  which  is,  I  own,  sometimes  ex- 
cessive avarice,  but  oftener  extreme  prodigality.  I 
remember  one  of  these  who,  having  received  a  pretty 
large  sum  of  money,  gave  me,  when  I  begged  an 
obolus,  a  whole  talent ;  on  which  his  friend  having 
reproved  him,  he  answered,  with  an  oath, '  Why  not  ? 
Have  I  not  fifty  left  ? ' 

"  The  life  of  a  beggar,  if  men  estimated  things 
by  their  real  essence,  and  not  by  their  outward  false 
appearance,  would  be,  perhaps,  a  more  desirable  situ- 
ation than  any  of  those  which  ambition  persuades  us, 
with  such  difficulty,  danger,  and  often  villany,  to 
aspire  to.  Tiie  wants  of  a  beggar  are  commonly  as 
chimerical  as  the  abundance  of  a  nobleman ;  for  be- 
sides vanity,  which  a  judicious  beggar  will  always 
apply  to  with  wonderful  efficacy,  there  are  in  reality 
very  few  natures  so  hai'dened  as  not  to  compassionate 
poverty  and  distress,  when  the  predominancy  of  some 
other  passion  doth  not  prevent  them. 

"  There  is  one  happiness  which  attends  money  got 
with  ease,  namely,  that  it  is  never  hoarded ;  other- 
wise, as  we  have  frequent  opportunities  of  growing 

[117] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

rich,  that  canker  care  might  prey  upon  our  quiet,  as 
it  doth  on  others ;  but  oui-  money  stock  we  spend  as 
fast  as  we  acquire  it ;  usually  at  least,  for  I  speak  not 
without  exception ;  thus  it  gives  us  mirth  only,  and 
no  trouble.  Indeed,  the  luxury  of  our  lives  might 
introduce  diseases,  did  not  our  daily  exercise  pre- 
vent them.  This  gives  us  an  appetite  and  relish  for 
our  dainties,  and  at  the  same  time  an  antidote  against 
the  evil  effects  which  sloth,  united  with  luxury,  in- 
duces on  the  habit  of  a  human  body.  Our  women 
we  enjoy  with  ecstasies  at  least  equal  to  what  the 
greatest  men  feel  in  their  embraces.  I  can,  I  am 
assured,  say  of  myself,  that  no  mortal  could  reap 
more  perfect  happiness  from  the  tender  passion  than 
my  fortune  had  decreed  me.  I  married  a  charming 
young  woman  for  love  ;  she  was  the  daughter  of  a 
neighbouring  beggar,  who,  with  an  improvidence  too 
often  seen,  spent  a  very  large  income  which  he  pro- 
cured by  his  profession,  so  that  he  was  able  to  give 
her  no  fortune  down  ;  however,  at  his  death  he  left 
her  a  very  well  accustomed  begging-hut,  situated  on 
the  side  of  a  steep  hill,  where  travellers  could 
not  immediately  escape  from  us,  and  a  garden  ad- 
joining, being  the  twentv-eighth  part  of  an  acre, 
well  planted.  She  made  the  best  of  wives,  bore  me 
nineteen  children,  and  never  failed,  unless  on  her 
lying-in,  which  generally  lasted  three  days,  to  get 
my  supper  ready  against  my  return  home  in  an 
evening ;  this  being  my  favourite  meal,  and  at 
which  I,  as  well  as  my  whole  family,  greatly  en- 
joyed ourselves ;  the  principal  subject  of  our  dis- 
course being  generally  the  boons   we  had  that  day 

[118] 


FIFTY    MILLION    LIES 

obtained,  on  which  occasions,  laughing  at  the  folly 
of  the  donors  made  no  inconsiderable  part  of  the 
entertainment ;  for,  whatever  might  be  their  motive 
for  giving,  we  constantly  imputed  our  success  to  our 
having  flattered  their  vanity,  or  overreached  their 
understanding. 

"But  perhaps  I  have  dwelt  too  long  on  this  char- 
acter ;  I  shall  conclude,  therefore,  with  telling  you 
that  after  a  life  of  102  years'  continuance,  during  all 
which  I  had  never  known  any  sickness  or  infirmity 
but  that  v.bich  old  age  necessarily  induced,  I  at  last, 
without  the  least  pain,  went  out  like  the  snuff"  of  a 
candle. 

"  Minos,  having  heard  my  history,  bid  me  com- 
pute, if  I  could,  how  many  lies  I  had  told  in  my  life. 
As  we  are  here,  by  a  cei'tain  fated  necessity,  obliged 
to  confine  ourselves  to  truth,  I  answered,  I  believed 
about  50,000,000.  He  then  replied,  with  a  frown, 
'  Can  such  a  wretch  conceive  any  hopes  of  entering 
Elysium?"*  I  immediately  turned  about,  and,  upon 
the  whole,  was  rejoiced  at  his  not  calling  me  back." 


[119] 


CHAPTER   TWENTY 

JULIAN    PERFORMS    THE    PART    OF    A    STATESMAN. 

IT  was  now  my  fortune  to  be  bom  of  a  German 
princess ;  but  a  man-midwife,  pulling  my  head 
off  in  delivering  my  mother,  put  a  peedy  end 
to  my  princely  life. 
"Spirits  who  end  their  lives  before  they  are  at  the 
age  of  five  years  are  immediately  ordered  into  other 
bodies  ;  and  it  was  now  my  fortune  to  perform  sev- 
eral infancies  before  I  could  again  entitle  myself  to 
an  exainination  of  Minos. 

"  At  length  I  was  destined  once  more  to  play  a 
considerable  part  on  the  stage.  I  was  born  in  Eng- 
land, in  the  reign  of  Ethelred  II.  My  father's  name 
was  Ulnoth  :  he  was  earl  or  thane  of  Sussex.  I  was 
afterwards  known  by  the  name  of  earl  Goodwin,  and 
began  to  make  a  considerable  figure  in  the  world  in 
the  time  of  Harold  Harefoot,  whom  I  procured  to 
be  made  king  of  Wessex,  or  the  West  Saxons,  in 
prejudice  of  Hardicanute,  whose  mother  Emma  en- 
deavoured afterwards  to  set  another  of  her  sons  on 
the  throne ;  but  I  circumvented  her,  and,  communi- 
cating her  design  to  the  king,  at  the  same  time 
acquainted  him  with  a  project  which  I  had  formed 
for  the  murder  of  these  two  young  princes.  Emma 
had  sent  for  these  her  sons  from  Normandy,  with  the 

[  UO  ] 


AN    ENGLISH    STATESMAN 


t 


king's  leave,  whom  she  had  deceived  by  her  religious 
behaviour,  and  pretended  neglect  of  all  worldly  af- 
fairs;  but  I  prevailed  with  Harold  to  invite  these 
princes  to  his  court,  and  put  them  to  death.  The 
prudent  mother  sent  only  Alfred,  retaining  Edward 
to  herself,  as  she  suspected  my  ill  designs,  and 
thought  I  should  not  venture  to  execute  them  on 
one  of  her  sons,  while  she  secured  the  other  ;  but  she 
was  deceived,  for  I  had  no  sooner  Alfred  in  my  pos- 
session than  I  caused  him  to  be  conducted  to  Ely, 
where  I  ordered  his  eyes  to  be  put  out,  and  after- 
wards to  be  confined  in  a  monastery. 

"  This  was  one  of  those  cruel  expedients  which 
great  men  satisfy  themselves  well  in  executing,  by 
concluding  them  to  be  necessary  to  the  service  of 
their  prince,  who  is  the  support  of  their  ambition. 

"Edward,  the  other  son  of  Emma,  escaped  again 
to  Normandy ;  whence,  after  the  death  of  Harold 
and  Hardicanute,  he  made  no  scruple  of  applying  to 
ray  protection  and  favour,  though  he  had  before  pros- 
ecuted me  with  all  the  vengeance  he  was  able,  for 
the  murder  of  his  brother;  but  in  all  great  affairs 
private  relation  must  yield  to  public  interest.  Hav- 
ing therefore  concluded  very  advantageous  terms  for 
myself  with  him,  I  made  no  scruple  of  patronizing 
his  cause,  and  soon  placed  him  on  the  throne.  Nor 
did  I  conceive  the  least  apprehension  from  his  re- 
sentment, as  I  knew  my  power  was  too  great  for  him 
to  encounter. 

"  Among  other  stipulated  conditions,  one  was  to 
marry  my  daughter  Editha.  This  Edward  consented 
to  with  great  reluctance,  and  I  had  afterwards  no 

[121] 


THE     WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

reason  to  be  pleased  with  it ;  for  it  raised  her,  who 
had  been  my  favourite  child,  to  such  an  opinion  of 
greatness,  that,  instead  of  paying  me  the  usual  re- 
spect, she  frequently  threw  in  my  teeth  (as  often  at 
least  as  I  gave  her  any  admonition),  that  she  was 
now  a  queen,  and  that  the  character  and  title  of 
father  merged  in  that  of  subject.  This  behaviour, 
however,  did  not  cure  me  of  my  affection  towards 
her,  nor  lessen  the  uneasiness  which  I  afterwards  bore 
on  Edward's  dismissing  her  from  his  bed. 

"  One  thing  which  principally  induced  me  to  la- 
bour the  promotion  of  Edward  was  the  simplicity  or 
weakness  of  that  prince,  under  whom  I  promised  my- 
self absolute  dominion  under  another  name.  Nor 
did  this  opinion  deceive  me  ;  for,  during  his  whole 
reign,  my  administration  was  in  the  highest  degree 
despotic :  I  had  everything  of  royalty  but  the  out- 
ward ensigns ;  no  man  ever  applying  for  a  place,  or 
any  kind  of  preferment,  but  to  me  only.  A  circum- 
tance  which,  as  it  greatly  enriched  my  coffers,  so 
it  no  less  pampered  my  ambition,  and  satisfied  my 
vanity  with  a  numerous  attendance  ;  and  I  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  those  who  only  bowed  to  the  king 
prostrating  themselves  before  me. 

"  Edward  the  Confessor,  or  St.  Edward,  as  some 
have  called  him,  in  derision  I  suppose,  being  a  very 
silly  fellow,  had  all  the  faults  incident,  and  almost  in- 
separable, to  fools.  He  married  my  daughter  Editha 
from  his  fear  of  disobliging  me ;  and  afterwards,  out 
of  hatred  to  me,  refused  even  to  consummate  his 
marriage,  though  she  was  one  of  the  most  beauti- 
ful women  of  her  age.     He  was  likewise  guilty  of 

[  122  ] 


SWANE'S    CRIMES 

the  basest  ingratitude  to  his  mother  (a  vice  to  which 
fools  are  chiefly,  if  not  only,  liable) ;  and,  in  return 
for  her  endeavours  to  procure  him  a  throne  in  his 
youth,  confined  her  in  a  loathsome  prison  in  her  old 
age.  This,  it  is  true,  he  did  by  my  advice ;  but 
as  to  her  walking  over  nine  ploughshares  red-hot, 
and  giving  nine  manors,  when  she  had  not  one  in 
her  possession,  there  is  not  a  syllable  of  veracity 
in  it. 

"  The  first  great  perplexity  I  fell  into  was  on  the 
account  of  my  son  Swane,  who  had  deflowered  the 
abbess  of  Leon,  since  called  Leominster,  in  Here- 
foi-dshire.  After  this  fad  he  retired  into  Denmark, 
whence  he  sent  to  me  to  obtain  his  pardon.  The 
king  at  first  I'efused  it,  being  moved  thereto,  as  I 
afterwards  found,  by  some  churchmen,  particularly 
by  one  of  his  chaplains,  whom  I  had  prevented  from 
obtaining  a  bishopric.  Upon  this  my  son  Swane  in- 
vaded the  coasts  with  several  ships,  and  committed 
many  outrageous  cruelties  ;  which,  indeed,  did  his 
business,  as  they  served  me  to  apply  to  the  fear  of 
this  king,  which  I  had  long  since  discovered  to  be 
his  predonu'iiant  passion.  And,  at  last,  he  who  had 
refused  pardon  to  iiis  first  offence  submitted  to  give 
it  him  after  he  had  committed  many  other  more 
monstrous  crimes  ;  by  wliich  his  pardon  lost  all 
grace  to  the  offendefl,  and  received  double  censure 
from  all  others. 

"  The  king  was  greatly  inclined  to  the  Normans, 
had  created  a  Norman  archbishop  of  Canterburv,  and 
had  heaped  extraordinary  favours  on  him.  I  had  no 
other  objection  to  this  man  than  that  he  rose  with- 

[  123  1 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

out  my  assistance ;  a  cause  of  dislike  wliich,  in  the 
reign  of  great  and  powerfal  favourites,  hath  often 
proved  fatal  to  the  persons  who  have  given  it,  as 
the  persons  thus  raised  inspire  us  constantly  with 
jealousies  and  apprehensions.  For  when  we  pro- 
mote any  one  ourselves,  we  take  effectual  care  to 
preserve  such  an  ascendant  over  him,  that  we  can 
at  any  time  reduce  him  to  his  former  degree,  should 
he  dare  to  act  in  opposition  to  our  wills ;  for  which 
reason  we  never  suffer  any  to  come  near  the  prince 
but  such  as  we  are  assured  it  is  impossible  should  be 
capable  of  engaging  or  improving  his  affection  ;  no 
prime  minister,  as  I  apprehend,  esteeming  himself  to 
be  safe  while  any  other  shares  the  ear  of  his  prince, 
of  whom  we  are  as  jealous  as  the  fondest  husband 
can  be  of  his  wife.  Whoever,  therefore,  can  ap- 
proach him  bv  any  other  channel  than  that  of  our- 
selves, is,  in  our  opinion,  a  declared  enemy,  and  one 
Avhom  the  first  principles  of  policy  oblige  us  to  de- 
molish with  the  utmost  expedition.  For  the  affec- 
tion of  kings  is  as  precarious  as  that  of  women,  and 
the  only  way  to  secure  either  to  ourselves  is  to  keep 
all  others  from  them. 

"  But  the  archbishop  did  not  let  matters  rest  on 
suspicion.  He  soon  gave  open  proofs  of  his  interest 
with  the  Confessor  in  procuring  an  oflice  of  some  im- 
portance for  one  Rollo,  a  Roman  of  meat)  extraction 
and  very  despicable  parts.  When  I  represented  to 
the  king  the  indecency  of  conferring  such  an  honour 
on  such  a  fellow,  he  answered  me  that  he  was  the 
archbishop's  relation.  'Then,  sir,' replied  I,  *  he  is 
related  to  your  enemy.'     Nothing  more  past  at  that 

[124] 


OPPOSITION    TO    THE    KING 

time  ;  but  I  soon  perceived,  by  the  archbishop's  be- 
haviour, that  the  king  had  acquainted  him  with  our 
private  discourse ;  a  sufficient  assurance  of  his  con- 
fidence in  him  and  neglect  of  me. 
,  "  The  favour  of  princes,  when  once  lost,  is  re- 
coverable only  by  the  gaining  a  situation  which  mav 
make  you  terrible  to  them.  As  I  had  no  doubt  of 
having  lost  all  credit  with  this  king,  which  indeed  had 
been  originally  founded  and  constantly  supported 
by  his  fear,  so  I  took  the  method  of  terror  to 
regain  it. 

■■  "The  earl  of  Boulogne  coming  over  to  visit  the 
king  gave  me  an  opportunity  of  breaking  out  into 
open  opposition  ;  for,  as  the  earl  was  on  his  return 
to  Prance,  one  of  his  servants,  who  was  sent  before 
to  procure  lodgings  at  Dover,  and  insisted  on  having 
them  in  the  house  of  a  private  man  in  spite  of  the 
owner's  teeth,  was,  in  a  fray  which  ensued,  killed  on 
the  spot;  and  the  earl  himself,  arriving  there  soon 
after,  very  narrowly  escaped  with  his  life.  The  earl, 
enraged  at  this  affront,  returned  to  the  king  at 
Gloucester  with  loud  complaints  and  demands  of 
satisfaction.  Edward  consented  to  his  demands,  and 
ordered  me  to  chastise  the  rioters,  who  were  under 
my  government  as  earl  of  Kent :  but,  instead  of 
obeying  these  orders,  I  answered,  w^ith  some  warmth, 
that  the  English  were  not  used  to  punish  people 
unheard,  nor  ought  their  rights  and  privileges  to  be 
violated  ;  tliat  the  accused  should  be  first  summoned 
—  if  guilty,  should  make  satisfaction  both  with  body 
and  estate,  but,  if  innocent,  should  be  discharged. 
Adding,  with  great  ferocity,  that  as  earl  of  Kent  it 

[125  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

was  my  duty  to  protect  those  under  my  government 
against  the  insults  of  foreigners. 

"  This  accident  was  extremely  lucky,  as  it  gave 
my  quarrel  with  the  king  a  popular  colour,  and  so 
ingratiated  nie  with  the  people,  that  when  I  set  up 
my  standard,  which  I  soon  after  did,  they  readily 
and  chearfully  listed  under  my  banners  and  em- 
braced my  cause,  which  I  persuaded  them  was  their 
own  ;  for  that  it  was  to  protect  them  against 
foreigners  that  I  had  drawn  my  sword.  The  word 
foreigners  with  an  Englishman  hath  a  kind  of  magi- 
cal effect,  they  having  the  utmost  hatred  and  aver- 
sion to  them,  arising  from  the  cruelties  they  suffered' 
from  the  Danes  and  some  other  foreign  nations. 
No  wonder  therefore  they  espoused  my  cause  in  a 
quarrel  which  had  such  a  beginning. 

"  But  what  may  be  somewhat  more  remarkable 
is,  that  when  I  afterwards  returned  to  England 
from  banishment,  and  was  at  the  head  of  an  army 
of  the  Flemish,  who  were  preparing  to  plunder 
the  city  of  London,  I  still  persisted  that  I  was 
come  to  defend  the  English  from  the  danger  of 
foreigners,  and  gained  their  credit.  Indeed,  there 
is  no  lie  so  gross  but  it  may  be  imposed  on  the 
people  by  those  whom  they  esteem  their  patrons  aud 
defenders. 

"  The  king  saved  his  city  by  being  reconciled  to 
me,  and  taking  again  my  daughter,  whom  he  had 
put  away  from  him  ;  and  thus,  having  frightened 
the  king  into  what  concessions  I  thought  proper,  I 
dismissed  my  army  and  fleet,  with  which  I  intended, 
could    I    not    have    succeeded    otherwise,    to    have 

[126  J 


POISONED    BY    THE    KING 

sacked  the  city  of  London  and  ravaged  the  whole 
country. 

"  I  was  no  sooner  re-established  in  the  king's 
favour,  or,  what  was  as  well  for  me,  the  appearance  of 
it,  than  I  fell  violently  on  the  archbishop.  He  had 
of  himself  retired  to  his  monastery  in  Normandy  ; 
but  that  did  not  content  me  :  I  had  him  formally 
banished,  the  see  declared  vacant,  and  then  filled 
up  by  another. 

"  I  enjoyed  my  grandeur  a  very  short  time  after 
my  restoi-ation  to  it ;  for  the  king,  hating  and  fear- 
ing me  to  a  very  great  degree,  and  finding  no  means 
of  openly  destroying  me,  at  last  effected  his  purpose 
by  poison,  and  then  spread  abroad  a  ridiculous  story, 
of  my  wishing  the  next  morsel  might  choak  me  if  I 
had  had  any  hand  in  the  death  of  Alfred ;  and,  ac- 
cordingly, that  the  next  morsel,  by  a  divine  judg- 
ment, stuck  in  my  throat  and  performed  that  office. 

"  This  of  a  statesman  was  one  of  my  worst  stages 
in  the  other  world.  It  is  a  post  subjected  dailv  to 
the  greatest  danger  and  inquietude,  and  attended 
with  little  pleasure  and  less  ease.  In  a  word,  it  is  a 
pill  which,  was  it  not  gilded  over  by  ambition,  would 
appear  nauseous  and  detestable  in  the  eye  of  every 
one  ;  and  perhaps  that  is  one  reason  why  Minos  so 
greatly  compassionates  the  case  of  those  who  swallow 
it:  for  that  just  judge  told  me  he  always  acquitted 
a  prime  minister  who  could  pi-oduce  one  single  good 
action  in  his  whole  life,  let  him  have  committed  ever 
so  many  crimes.  Indeed,  I  understood  him  a  little 
too  largely,  and  was  stepping  towards  the  gate ;  but 
he  pulled  me  by  the  sleeve,  and,  telling  me  no  prime 

_  [  1^7  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

minister  ever  entered  there,  bid  me  go  back  again  ; 
saying,  he  thought  I  had  sufficient  reason  to  rejoice 
in  my  escaping  the  bottomless  pit,  which  half  my 
crimes  committed  in  any  other  capacity  would  have 
entitled  me  to."" 


[128] 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

juliak's  adventures  in  the  post  of  a  soldiee. 

1WAS  born  at  Caen,  in  Normandy.  My 
mother  s  name  was  Matilda  ;  as  for  my  father, 
I  am  not  so  certain,  for  the  good  woman  on 
her  deathbed  assured  me  she  herself  could 
bring  her  guess  to  no  greater  certainty  than  to  five 
of  duke  William's  captains.  When  I  was  no  more 
than  thirteen  (being  indeed  a  surprising  stout  boy 
of  my  age)  I  enlisted  into  the  army  of  duke  William, 
afterwards  known  by  the  name  of  William  the  Con- 
queror, landed  with  him  at  Pemesey  or  Pemsey,  in 
Sussex,  and  was  present  at  the  famous  battle  of 
Hastings. 

"  At  the  first  onset  it  was  impossible  to  describe 
my  constei-nation,  which  was  heightened  by  the  fall 
of  two  soldiers  who  stood  by  me;  but  this  soon 
abated,  and  by  degrees,  as  my  blood  grew  warm,  I 
thought  no  more  of  my  own  safety,  but  fell  on  the 
enemy  with  great  fury,  and  did  a  good  deal  of 
execution ;  till,  unhappily,  I  received  a  wound  in 
my  thigh,  which  rendered  me  unable  to  stand  any 
longer,  so  that  I  now  lay  among  the  dead,  and  was 
constantly  exposed  to  the  danger  of  being  trampled 
to  death,  as  well  by  my  fellow-soldiei-s  as  by  the 
enemy.  However,  I  had  the  fortune  to  escape  it, 
VOL.  I. -9  [V29] 


THIS    WOULD    TO    THE    NEXT 

and  continued  the  remaining  part  of  the  day  and  the 
night  following  on  the  ground. 

"  The  next  morning,  the  duke  sending  out  parties 
to  brino;  off"  the  wounded,  I  was  found  almost  ex- 
piring  with  loss  of  blood  :  notwithstanding  which, 
as  imniediate  care  was  taken  to  dress  my  wounds, 
youth  and  a  robust  constitution  stood  my  friends, 
and  I  recovered  after  a  long  and  tedious  indisposi- 
tion, and  was  again  able  to  use  my  limbs  and  do  my 
duty. 

"  As  soon  as  Dover  was  taken  I  was  conveyed 
thither  with  all  the  rest  of  the  sick  and  wounded. 
Here  I  recovered  of  my  wound  ;  but  fell  afterwards 
into  a  violent  flux,  which,  when  it  departed,  left  me 
so  weak  that  it  was  long  before  I  could  regain  my 
strength.  And  what  most  afflicted  me  w^as,  that 
during  my  whole  illness,  when  I  languished  under 
want  as  well  as  sickness,  I  had  daily  the  mortifica- 
tion to  see  and  hear  the  riots  and  excess  of  my 
fellow -soldiers,  who  had  happily  escaped  safe  from 
the  battle. 

"  I  was  no  sooner  well  than  I  was  ordered  into 
garrison  at  Dover  Castle.  The  officers  here  fared 
very  indifferently,  but  the  private  men  much  worse. 
We  had  great  scarcity  of  provisions,  and,  what  was 
yet  more  intolerable,  were  so  closely  confined  for 
want  of  room  (four  of  us  being  obliged  to  lie  on  the 
same  bundle  of  straw),  that  many  died,  and  most 
sickened. 

"  Here  I  had  remained  about  four  months,  when 
one  night  we  were  alarmed  with  the  arrival  of  the 
earl  of  Boulogne,  who  had  come  over  privily  from 

[130] 


A    SOLDIER^S    TRIALS 

France,  and  endeavoured  to  surprize  the  castle.  The 
design  proved  ineffectual  ;  for  the  garrison  making  a 
brisk  sail  J,  most  of  his  men  were  tumbled  down  the 
precipice,  and  he  returned  with  a  very  few  back  to 
France.  In  this  action,  however,  I  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  come  off  with  a  broken  arm  ;  it  was  so  shat- 
tered, that,  besides  a  gi^eat  deal  of  pain  and  miseiy 
which  I  endured  in  my  cure,  I  was  disabled  for  up- 
wards of  three  months. 

"  Soon  after  my  recovery  I  had  contracted  an 
amour  with  a  young  woman  whose  parents  lived  near 
the  garrison,  and  were  in  much  better  circumstances 
than  I  had  reason  to  expect  should  give  their  con- 
sent to  the  match.  However,  as  she  was  extremely 
fond  of  me  (as  I  was  indeed  distractedly  enamoured 
of  her),  they  were  prevailed  on  to  comply  with  her 
desires,  and  the  day  was  fixed  for  our  marriage. 

"  On  the  evening  preceding,  while  I  was  exulting 
with  the  eager  expectation  of  the  happiness  I  was 
the  next  day  to  enjoy,  I  received  orders  to  march 
early  in  the  morning  towards  Windsor,  where  a 
large  army  was  to  be  formed,  at  the  head  of  which 
the  king  intended  to  march  into  the  west.  Any 
person  who  hath  ever  been  in  love  may  easily  imag- 
ine what  I  felt  in  mv  mind  on  receiving  those  orders ; 
and  what  still  heightened  my  torments  was,  that  the 
comnjanding  officer  would  not  permit  any  one  to  go 
out  of  the  garrison  that  evening  ;  so  that  I  had  not 
even  an  opportunity  of  taking  leave  of  mv  beloved. 

"  The  morning  came  which  was  to  have  put  me  in 
the  possession  of  my  wishes  ;  but,  alas  !  the  scene 
was  now  changed,  and  all    the  hopes  which  I  had 

[  131  J 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

raised  were  now  so  many  ghosts  to  haunt,  and  furies 
to  torment  me. 

"  It  was  now  the  midst  of  winter,  and  very  severe 
weather  for  the  season  ;  when  we  were  obhged  to 
make  very  long  and  fatiguing  marclies,  in  which  we 
suffered  all  the  inconveniences  of  cold  and  hunger. 
The  night  in  which  I  expected  to  riot  in  the  arms  of 
my  beloved  mistress  I  was  obliged  to  take  up  with  a 
lodging  on  the  ground,  exposed  to  the  inclemencies 
of  a  rigid  frost ;  nor  could  I  obtain  the  least  com- 
fort of  sleep,  which  shunned  me  as  its  enemy.  In 
short,  the  horrors  of  that  night  are  not  to  be  de- 
scribed, or  perhaps  imagined.  They  made  such  an 
impression  on  my  soul,  that  I  was  forced  to  be 
dipped  three  times  in  the  river  Letae  to  prevent  my 
remembering  it  in  the  characters  which  I  afterwards 
performed  in  the  flesh." 

Here  I  interrupted  Julian  for  the  first  time,  and 
told  him  no  such  dipping  had  happened  to  me  in  my 
voyage  from  one  world  to  the  other :  but  he  satisfied 
me  by  saying  "  that  this  only  happened  to  those 
spirits  which  returned  into  the  flesh,  in  order  to  pre- 
vent that  reminiscence  which  Plato  mentions,  and 
which  would  otherwise  cause  great  confusion  in  the 
other  world." 

He  then  proceeded  as  follows  :  "  We  continued  a 
very  laborious  march  to  Exeter,  which  we  were 
ordered  to  besiege.  The  town  soon  surrendered, 
and  his  majesty  built  a  castle  there,  which  he  gar- 
risoned with  his  Normans,  and  unhappily  I  had  the 
misfortune  to  be  one  of  the  number. 

"  Here  we  were  confined  closer  than  I  had  been  at 

[132  J 


VIOLENT    DESPAIR 

Dover  ;  for,  as  the  citizens  were  extremely  disaffected, 
we  were  never  suffered  to  go  without  the  walls  of  the 
castle ;  nor  indeed  could  we,  unless  in  large  bodies, 
without  the  utmost  danger.  We  were  likewise  kept 
to  continual  duty,  nor  could  any  solicitations  prevail 
with  the  commanding  officer  to  give  me  a  month's 
absence  to  visit  my  love,  from  whom  I  had  no 
opportunity  of  hearing  in  all  my  long  absence. 

"  However,  in  the  spring,  the  people  being  more 
quiet,  and  another  officer  of  a  gentler  temper  suc- 
ceeding to  the  principal  command,  I  obtained  leave 
to  go  to  Dover ;  but  alas  !  what  comfort  did  my 
long  journey  bring  me  ?  I  found  the  parents  of  my 
darling  in  the  utmost  misery  at  her  loss ;  for  she  had 
died,  about  a  week  before  my  arrival,  of  a  consump- 
tion, which  they  imputed  to  her  pining  at  my  sudden 
departure. 

"  I  now  fell  into  the  most  violent  and  almost  raving 
fit  of  despair.  I  cursed  myself,  the  king,  and  the 
whole  world,  which  no  longer  seemed  to  have  any 
delight  for  me.  I  threw  myself  on  the  grave  of  my 
deceased  love,  and  lay  there  without  any  kind  of 
sustenance  for  two  whole  days.  At  last  hunger,  to- 
gether with  the  persuasions  of  some  people  who  took 
pity  on  me,  prevailed  with  me  to  quit  that  situation, 
and  refresh  myself  with  food.  They  then  persuaded 
me  to  return  to  my  post,  and  abandon  a  place  where 
almost  every  object  I  saw  recalled  ideas  to  my  mind 
which,  as  they  said,  I  should  endeavour  with  my 
utmost  force  to  expel  from  it.  This  advice  at  length 
succeeded  ;  the  rather,  as  the  father  and  mother  of 
my  beloved  refused  to  see  me,  looking  on  me  as  tlie 

[  133] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

innocent  but  certain  cause  of  the  death  of  their  only 
child. 

"  The  loss  of  one  we  tenderly  love,  as  it  is  one  of 
the  most  bitter  and  biting  evils  which  attend  human 
life,  so  it  wants  the  lenitive  which  palliates  and  softens 
every  other  calamity ;  I  mean  that  great  reliever, 
hope.  No  man  can  be  so  totally  undone,  but  that 
he  may  still  cherish  expectation  :  but  this  deprives  us 
of  all  such  comfort,  nor  can  anything  but  time  alone 
lessen  it.  This,  however,  in  most  minds,  is  sure  to 
work  a  slow  but  effectual  remedy ;  so  did  it  in  mine  : 
for  within  a  twelvemonth  I  was  entirely  reconciled  to 
my  fortune,  and  soon  after  absolutely  forgot  the  ob- 
ject of  a  passion  from  which  I  had  promised  myself 
such  extreme  happiness,  and  in  the  disappointment  of 
which  I  had  experienced  such  inconceivable  misery. 

"  At  the  expii'ation  of  the  month  I  returned  to  my 
garrison  at  Exeter  ;  where  I  was  no  sooner  arrived 
than  I  was  ordered  to  march  into  the  north,  to  oppose 
a  force  there  levied  by  the  earls  of  Chester  and  Nor- 
thumberland. We  came  to  York,  where  his  majesty 
pardoned  the  heads  of  the  rebels,  and  very  severely 
punished  some  who  were  less  guilty.  It  was  particu- 
larly my  lot  to  be  ordered  to  seize  a  poor  man  who 
had  never  been  out  of  his  house,  and  convey  him  to 
prison.  I  detested  this  barbarity,  yet  was  obliged  to 
execute  it ;  nay,  though  no  reward  would  have  bribed 
me  in  a  private  capacity  to  have  acted  such  a  part, 
yet  so  much  sanctity  is  there  in  the  commands  of  a 
nionarch  or  general  to  a  soldier,  that  I  performed  it 
without  reluctance,  nor  had  the  tears  of  his  wife  and 
family  any  prevalence  with  me. 

.    [134] 


BARBARITIES 

"  But  this,  which  was  a  very  small  piece  of  mis- 
chief in  comparison  with  many  of  my  barbarities 
afterwards,  was  however  the  only  one  which  ever 
gave  me  any  uneasiness  ;  for  when  the  king  led  us 
afterwards  into  Northumberland  to  revenge  those 
people"'s  having  joined  with  Osborne  the  Dane  in  his 
invasion,  and  orders  were  given  us  to  commit  whut 
ravages  we  could,  I  was  forward  in  fulfilling  them, 
and,  among  some  lesser  cruelties  (I  remember  it  yet 
with  sorrow),  I  ravished  a  woman,  murdered  a  little 
infant  playing  in  her  lap,  and  then  burnt  her  house. 
In  short,  for  I  have  no  pleasure  in  this  part  of  my 
relation,  I  had  my  share  in  all  the  cruelties  exercised 
on  those  poor  wretches  ;  which  were  so  grievous,  that 
for  sixty  miles  togethei",  between  York  and  Durham, 
not  a  single  house,  church,  or  any  other  public  or 
private  edifice,  was  left  standing. 

"  We  had  pretty  well  devoured  the  country,  when 
we  were  ordered  to  march  to  the  Isle  of  Ely,  to 
oppose  Hereward,  a  bold  and  stout  soldier,  who  had 
under  him  a  very  large  body  of  rebels,  who  had  the 
impudence  to  rise  against  their  king  and  conqueror 
(I  talk  now  in  the  same  style  I  did  then)  in  defence 
of  their  liberties,  as  they  called  them.  These  were 
soon  subdued ;  but  as  I  happened  (more  to  my  glory 
than  my  comfort)  to  be  posted  in  that  part  through 
which  Hereward  cut  his  way,  I  received  a  dreadful 
cut  on  the  forehead,  a  second  on  the  shoulder,  and 
was  run  through  the  body  with  a  pike. 

"I  languished  a  long  time  with  these  wounds, 
which  made  me  incapable  of  attending  the  king  into 
Scotland.     However,  I  was  able  to  go  over  with  him 

[135] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

afterwards  into  Normandy,  in  his  expedition  against 
Philip,  who  had  taken  the  opportunity  of  the  trou- 
bles in  England  to  invade  that  province.  Those  few 
Normans  who  had  survived  their  wounds,  and  had 
remained  in  the  Isle  of  Ely,  were  all  of  our  nation 
who  went,  the  rest  of  his  army  being  all  composed  of 
English.  In  a  skirmish  near  the  town  of  Mans  my 
leg  was  broke  and  so  shattered  that  it  was  forced  to 
be  cut  off. 

"  I  was  now  disabled  from  serving  longer  in  the 
army ;  and  accordingly,  being  discharged  from  the 
service,  I  retired  to  the  place  of  my  nativity,  where, 
in  extreme  poverty,  and  frequent  bad  health  from 
the  many  wounds  I  had  received,  I  dragged  on  a 
miserable  life  to  the  age  of  sixty-three;  my  only 
pleasure  being  to  recount  the  feats  of  my  youth,  in 
which  narratives  I  generally  exceeded  the  truth. 

"  It  would  be  tedious  and  unpleasant  to  recount 
to  you  the  several  miseries  I  suffered  after  my  return 
to  Caen  ;  let  it  suffice,  they  were  so  terrible  that 
they  induced  Minos  to  compassionate  me,  and,  not- 
withstanding the  barbarities  I  had  been  guilty  of  in 
Northumberland,  to  suffer  me  to  go  once  more  back 
to  earth." 


[136] 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-TWO 

WHAT     HAPPENED     TO     JULIAN     IN     THE     PEESON     OF     A 

TAYLOK. 

FORTUNE  now  stationed  me  in  a  character 
which  the  ingratitude  of  mankind  hath 
put  them  on  ridicuhng,  though  they  owe 
to  it  not  onlv  a  rehef  from  the  inclem- 
encies of  cold,  to  which  they  would  otherwise  be 
exposed,  but  likewise  a  considerable  satisfaction  of 
their  vanity.  The  character  I  mean  was  that  of  a 
taylor ;  which,  if  we  consider  it  with  due  attention, 
must  be  confessed  to  have  in  it  great  dignity  and 
importance.  For,  in  reality,  who  constitutes  the 
different  degrees  between  men  but  the  taylor.?  the 
prince  indeed  gives  the  title,  but  it  is  the  taylor 
who  makes  the  man.  To  his  labours  are  owing 
the  respect  of  crouds,  and  the  awe  which  great  men 
inspire  into  their  beholders,  though  these  are  too 
often  unjustly  attributed  to  other  motives.  Lastly, 
the  admiration  of  the  fair  is  most  conmionly  to  be 
placed  to  his  account. 

"  I  was  just  set  up  in  my  trade  when  I  made  three 
suits  of  fine  clothes  for  king  Stephen's  coronation. 
I  question  whether  the  person  who  wears  the  rich  coat 
hath  so  much  pleasure  and  vanity  in  being  admired  in 
it,  as  we  taylors  have  from  that  admiration  ;  and  per- 
haps a  philosopher  would  sav  he  is  not  so  well  entitled 

[137] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

to  it.  I  bustled  on  the  day  of  the  ceremony  through 
the  croud,  and  it  was  with  incredible  delight  I  heard 
several  say,  as  my  cloaths  walked  by,  '  Bless  me, 
was  ever  anything  so  fine  as  the  earl  of  Devonshire  ? 
Sure  he  and  Sir  Hugh  Bigot  are  the  two  best  drest 
men  I  ever  saw.'  Now  both  those  suits  were  of  my 
making. 

"  There  would  indeed  be  infinite  pleasure  in  work- 
ing for  the  courtiers,  as  they  are  generally  genteel 
men,  and  shew  one''s  clothes  to  the  best  advantage, 
was  it  not  for  one  small  discouragement ;  this  is, 
th:it  they  never  pay,  I  solemnly  protest,  though  I 
lost  almost  as  much  by  the  court  in  my  life  as  I  got 
by  the  city,  I  never  carried  a  suit  into  the  latter  with 
half  the  satisfaction  which  I  have  done  to  the  former ; 
though  from  that  I  was  certain  of  ready  money,  and 
from  this  almost  as  certain  of  no  money  at  all. 

"  Courtiers  may,  however,  be  divided  into  two  sorts, 
very  essentially  different  from  each  other  ;  into  those 
who  never  intend  to  pay  for  their  clothes  ;  and  those 
Avho  do  intend  to  pay  for  them,  but  never  happen  to 
be  able.  Of  the  latter  sort  are  many  of  those  young 
gentlemen  whom  we  equip  out  for  the  army,  and  who 
are,  unhappily  for  us,  cut  off  before  they  arrive  at 
preferment.  This  is  the  reason  that  taylors,  in  time 
of  war,  are  mistaken  for  politicians  by  their  inquisi- 
tiveness  into  the  event  of  battles,  one  campaign  very 
often  proving  the  ruin  of  half-a-dozen  of  us.  I  am 
sure  I  had  frequent  reason  to  curse  that  fatal  battle 
of  Cardigan,  where  the  Welsh  defeated  some  of  king 
Stephen's  best  troops,  and  where  many  a  good  suit 
of  mine,  unpaid  for,  fell  to  the  ground. 

[  I'^iS  ]  . 


EXPERIENCES    AS    A    TAYLOR 

"  The  gentlemen  of  this  honourable  calling  have 
fared  much  better  in  later  ages  than  when  I  was  of  it ; 
for  now  it  seems  the  fashion  is,  when  they  apprehend 
their  customer  is  not  in  the  best  circumstances,  if  they 
are  not  paid  as  soon  as  they  carry  home  the  suit,  they 
charge  him  in  their  book  as  much  again  as  it  is  worth, 
and  then  send  a  gentleman  with  a  small  scrip  of 
parchment  to  demand  the  money.  If  this  be  not 
immediately  paid  the  gentleman  takes  the  beau  with 
him  to  his  house,  where  he  locks  him  up  till  the 
taylor  is  contented  :  but  in  my  time  these  scrips  of 
parchment  were  not  in  use  ;  and  if  the  beau  disliked 
paying  for  his  clothes,  as  very  often  happened,  we 
had  no  method  of  compelling  him. 

"  In  several  of  tlie  characters  which  I  have  related 
to  you,  I  apprehend  I  have  sometimes  forgot  myself, 
and  considered  myself  as  really  interested  as  I  was 
when  I  personated  them  on  earth.  I  have  just  now 
caught  myself  in  the  fact ;  for  I  ha\  e  complained  to 
you  as  bitterly  of  my  customers  as  I  formerly  used  to 
do  when  I  was  the  tavlor  :  but  in  realitv,  though 
there  were  some  few  persons  of  very  great  quality,  and 
some  others,  who  never  paid  their  debts,  yet  those 
were  but  a  few,  and  I  had  a  method  of  repairing  this 
loss.  My  customers  I  divided  under  three  heads : 
those  who  paid  ready  money,  those  who  paid  slow,  and 
those  who  never  paid  at  all.  The  first  of  these  I  con- 
sidered apart  by  themselves,  as  persons  by  whom  I  got 
a  certain  but  small  profit.  The  two  last  I  lumped 
together,  making  those  who  paid  slow  contribute  to 
repair  my  losses  by  those  who  did  not  pav  at  all. 
Thus,  upon  the  whole,  I  was  a  very  inconsiderable 

[139] 


THIS    WOULD    TO    THE    NEXT 

loser,  and  might  have  left  a  fortune  to  my  family, 
had  I  not  launched  forth  into  expenses  which  swal- 
lowed up  all  my  gains.  I  had  a  wife  and  two 
children.  These  indeed  I  kept  frugally  enough,  for 
I  half  starved  them  ;  but  I  kept  a  mistress  in  a  finer 
way,  for  whom  I  had  a  country-house,  pleasantly 
situated  on  the  Thames,  elegantly  fitted  up  and 
neatly  furnished.  This  woman  might  very  properly 
be  called  my  mistress,  for  she  was  most  absolutely  so  ; 
and  though  her  tenure  was  no  higher  than  by  my 
will,  she  domineered  as  tyrannically  as  if  my  chains 
had  been  riveted  in  the  strongest  manner.  To  all 
this  I  submitted,  not  through  any  adoration  of  her 
beauty,  which  was  indeed  but  indifferent.  Her 
charms  consisted  in  little  wantonnesses,  which  she 
knew  admirably  well  to  use  in  hours  of  dalliance,  and 
which,  I  believe,  are  of  all  things  the  most  delightful 
to  a  lover. 

"  She  was  so  profusely  extravagant,  that  it  seemed 
as  if  she  had  an  actual  intent  to  ruin  me.  This  I 
am  sure  of,  if  such  had  been  her  real  intention,  she 
could  have  taken  no  properer  way  to  accon)plish  it ; 
nay,  I  myself  might  appear  to  have  had  the  same 
view  :  for,  besides  this  extravagant  mistress  and  my 
country-house,  I  kept  likewise  a  brace  of  liunters, 
rather  for  that  it  was  feshionable  so  to  do  than  for 
any  great  delight  I  took  in  the  sport,  which  I  very 
little  attended ;  not  for  want  of  leisure,  for  few 
noblemen  had  so  much.  All  the  work  I  ever  did 
was  taking  measure,  and  that  only  of  my  greatest 
and  best  customers.  I  scarce  ever  cut  a  piece  of 
cloth  in  my  life,  nor  was  indeed  much  more  able  to 

[140] 


A    TYRANNOUS    SERVANT 

fashion  a  coat  than  any  gentleman  in  the  kingdom. 
This  made  a  skilful  servant  too  necessary  to  me. 
He  knew  I  must  submit  to  any  terms  with,  or  any 
treatment  from,  him.  He  knew  it  was  easier  for 
him  to  find  another  such  a  taylor  as  me  than  for  me 
to  procure  such  another  workman  as  him  :  for  this 
reason  he  exerted  the  most  notorious  and  cruel 
tyranny,  seldom  giving  me  a  civil  word  ;  nor  could 
the  utmost  condescension  on  my  side,  though  at- 
tended with  continual  presents  and  rewards,  and 
raising  his  wages,  content  or  please  him.  In  a 
■word,  he  was  as  absolutely  my  master  as  was  ever 
an  ambitious,  industrious  prime  minister  over  an  in- 
dolent and  voluptuous  king.  All  my  other  journey- 
men paid  more  respect  to  him  than  to  me  ;  for  they 
considered  my  favour  as  a  necessary  consequence  of 
obtaining  liis. 

"  These  were  the  most  remarkable  occurrences 
while  I  acted  this  part.  Minos  hesitated  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  bid  me  get  back  again,  without 
assigning  any  reason."" 


[Ul] 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-THREE 

THE    LIFE    OF    ALDERMAN    JULLAN. 

I  NOW  revisited  England,  and  was  bom  at 
London.  My  father  was  one  of  the  magis- 
trates of  that  city.  He  had  eleven  children, 
of  whom  I  was  the  eldest.  He  had  great  suc- 
cess in  trade,  and  grew  extremely  rich,  but  the  large- 
ness of  his  family  rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to 
leave  me  a  fortune  sufficient  to  live  well  on  independ- 
ent of  business.  I  was  accordingly  brought  up  to 
be  a  fishmonger,  in  which  capacity  I  myself  after- 
wards acquitted  very  considerable  wealth. 

"The  same  disposition  of  mind  which  in  princes 
is  called  ambition  is  in  subjects  named  faction.  To 
this  temper  I  was  greatly  addicted  from  my  youth. 
I  was,  while  a  boy,  a  great  partisan  of  prince  John's 
against  his  brother  Richard,  during  the  latter's  ab- 
sence in  the  holy  war  and  in  his  captivity.  I  was 
no  more  than  one-and-twenty  when  I  first  began  to 
make  political  speeches  in  publick,  and  to  endeavour 
to  foment  disquietude  and  discontent  in  the  city.  As 
I  was  prottv  well  (jualified  for  tliis  office,  by  a  great 
fluency  of  words,  an  harmonious  accent,  a  graceful 
delivery,  and  above  all  an  invincible  assurance,  I  had 
soon  acquired  some  reputation  among  the  younger 
citizens,  and  some  of  the  weaker  and  more  inconsid- 

[142  J 


A    POLITICAL    LIFE 

erate  of  a  riper  age.  This,  co-operating  with  my 
own  natural  vanity,  made  me  extravagantly  proud 
and  supercilious.  I  soon  began  to  esteem  myself  a 
man  of,  some  consequence,  and  to  overlook  persons 
every  way  my  superiors. 

"The  famous  Robin  Hood,  and  his  companion 
Little  John,  at  this  time  made  a  considerable  figui-e 
in  Yorkshire.  I  took  upon  me  to  write  a  letter  to 
the  former,  in  the  name  of  the  city,  inviting  him  to 
come  to  London,  where  I  assured  him  of  very  good 
reception,  signifying  to  him  my  own  great  weight 
and  conse({uence,  and  how  much  I  had  disposed  the 
citizens  in  his  favour.  Whether  he  received  this 
letter  or  no  I  am  not  certain  ;  but  he  never  gave  me 
any  answer  to  it. 

"  A  little  afterwards  one  William  Fitz-Osbom,  or, 
as  he  was  nicknamed,  William  Long-Beard,  began 
to  make  a  figure  in  the  city.  He  was  a  bold  and  an 
impudent  fellow,  and  had  raised  himself  to  great 
popularity  with  the  rabble,  by  pretending  to  espouse 
their  cause  against  the  rich.  I  took  this  man's  part, 
and  made  a  public  oration  in  his  favour,  setting  him 
forth  as  a  patriot,  and  one  who  had  embarked  in 
the  cause  of  liberty  :  for  which  service  he  did  not 
receive  me  with  the  acknowledgments  I  expected. 
However,  as  I  thought  I  should  easily  gain  the  as- 
cendant over  this  fellow,  I  continued  still  firm  on 
his  side,  till  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  with  an 
armed  force,  put  an  end  to  his  progress  :  for  he  was 
seized  in  Bow-church,  wliere  he  had  taken  refuge, 
and  with  nine  of  his  accomplices  hanged  in  chains. 

"I  escaped  narrowly  myself;  for  I  was  seized  in 

[  143] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

the  same  churcli  with  the  rest,  and,  as  I  had  been 
very  considerably  engaged  in  the  enterprize,  the 
archbishop  was  inclined  to  make  me  an  example  ; 
but  my  father's  merit,  who  had  advanced  a  consider- 
able sum  to  queen  Eleanor  towards  the  king's  ran- 
som, preserved  me. 

"  The  consternation  my  danger  hail  occasioned 
kept  me  some  time  quiet,  and  I  applied  myself  very 
assiduously  to  my  trade.  I  invented  all  manner  of 
methods  to  enhance  the  price  of  fish,  and  made  use 
of  my  utmost  endeavours  to  engross  as  much  of  the 
business  as  possible  in  my  own  hands.  By  these 
means  I  acquired  a  substance  which  raised  me  to 
some  little  consequence  in  the  city,  but  far  from 
elevating  me  to  that  degree  which  I  had  formerly 
flattered  myself  with  possessing  at  a  time  when  I 
was  totally  insignificant  ;  for,  in  a  trading  society, 
money  must  at  least  lay  the  foundation  of  all  power 
and  interest, 

"  But  as  it  hath  been  remarked  that  the  same 
ambition  which  sent  Alexander  into  Asia  brings  the 
wrestler  on  the  green  ;  and  as  this  same  ambition  is 
as  incapable  as  quicksilver  of  lying  still ;  so  I,  who 
was  possessed  perhaps  of  a  share  equal  to  what  hath 
fired  the  blood  of  any  of  the  heroes  of  antiquity, 
was  no  less  restless  and  discontented  with  ease  and 
quiet.  My  first  endeavours  were  to  make  myself 
head  of  my  company,  which  Richard  I.  had  just 
published,  and  soon  afterwards  I  procured  myself 
to  be  chosen  alderman, 

"  Opposition  is  the  only  state  which  can  give  a 
subject  an  opportunity  of  exerting  the  disposition  I 

[  144] 


ALDERMAN    JULIAN 

was  possessed  of.  Accordingly,  king  John  was  no 
sooner  seated  on  his  throne  than  I  began  to  op- 
pose his  measures,  whether  right  or  wrong.  It  is 
true  that  monarch  had  faults  enow.  He  was  so 
abandoned  to  lust  and  luxury,  that  he  addicted 
himself  to  the  most  extravagant  excesses  in  both, 
while  he  indolently  suffered  the  king  of  France  to 
rob  him  of  almost  all  his  foreign  dominions :  my 
opposition  therefore  was  justifiable  enougli,  and  if 
my  motive  from  within  had  been  as  good  as  the 
occasion  from  without  I  should  have  had  little  to 
excuse  ;  but,  in  truth,  I  sought  nothing  but  my  own 
preferment,  by  making  myself  formidable  to  the 
king,  and  then  selling  to  him  the  interest  of  that 
party  by  whose  means  I  had  become  so.  Indeed, 
had  the  public  good  been  my  care,  however  zealously 
I  might  have  opposed  the  beginning  of  his  reign,  I 
should  not  have  scrupled  to  lend  him  my  utmost 
assistance  in  the  struggle  between  him  and  pope 
Innocent  the  third,  in  which  he  was  so  manifestly  in 
the  right ;  nor  have  suffered  the  insolence  of  that 
pope,  and  the  power  of  the  king  of  France,  to  have 
compelled  him  in  the  issue,  basely  to  resign  his 
crown  into  the  hands  of  the  former,  and  receive  it 
again  as  a  vassal ;  by  means  of  which  acknowledg- 
ment the  pope  afterwards  claimed  this  kingdom  as  a 
tributary  fief  to  be  held  of  the  papal  chair ;  a 
claim  which  occasioned  great  uneasiness  to  many 
subsequent  princes,  and  brought  numberless  calami- 
ties on  the  nation. 

**  As  the  king  had,  among  other  concessions,  stipu- 
lated to  pay  an  immediate  sum  of  money  to  Pandulph, 
vou  1.  —  10  [  145  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

which  lie  liad  great  difficulty  to  raise,  it  was  absolutely 
necessary  for  hi  in  to  apply  to  the  city,  where  my 
interest  and  popularity  were  so  high  that  he  had  no 
hopes  without  my  assistance.  As  I  knew  this,  I  took 
care  to  sell  myself  and  country  as  high  as  possible. 
The  terms  I  demanded,  therefore,  were  a  place,  a 
pension,  and  a  knighthood.  All  those  were  imme- 
diately consented  to.  I  was  forthwith  knighted,  and 
promised  the  other  two. 

"  I  now  mounted  the  hustings,  and,  without  any 
regard  to  decency  or  modesty,  made  as  emphatical  a 
speech  in  favour  of  the  king  as  before  I  had  done 
against  him.  In  this  speech  I  justified  all  those 
measures  which  I  had  before  condemned,  and  pleaded 
as  earnestly  with  my  fellow-citizens  to  open  their 
purses,  ds  I  had  formerly  done  to  prevail  with  them  to 
keep  them  shut.  But,  alas  !  my  rhetoric  had  not  the 
effect  I  proposed.  The  consequence  of  my  arguments 
was  only  contempt  to  myself.  The  people  at  fii-st 
stared  on  one  another,  and  afterwai'ds  began  unani- 
mously to  express  their  dislike.  An  impudent  fellow 
among  them,  reflecting  on  my  trade,  cryed  out, 
'  Stinking  fish  ; ""  which  was  immediately  reiterated 
through  the  whole  croud.  I  was  then  forced  to  slink 
away  home;  but  I  was  not  able  to  accomplish  my 
retreat  without  being  attended  by  the  mob,  who 
liiizza'd  me  along  the  street  with  the  repeated  cries 
of  '  Stinking  fish.' 

"  I  now  proceeded  to  court,  to  inform  his  majesty 
of  my  faithful  service,  and  how  much  I  had  suffered 
in  his  cause.  I  found  by  my  first  reception  he  had 
already  heard  of  my  success.     Instead  of  thanking 

[146] 


ABUSIVE    TREATMENT 

me  for  my  speech,  he  said  the  city  should  repent  of 
their  obstinacy,  for  that  he  would  shew  them  who  he 
was :  and  so  saying,  he  immediately  turned  that  part 
to  me  to  which  the  toe  of  man  hath  so  wonderful  an 
affection,  that  it  is  very  difficult,  whenever  it  presents 
itself  conveniently,  to  iceep  our  toes  from  the  most 
violent  and  ardent  salutation  of  it. 

"  I  was  a  little  nettled  at  this  behaviour,  and  with 
some  earnestness  claimed  the  king\s  fulfilling  his 
promise  ;  but  he  retired  without  answering  me.  I 
then  applied  to  some  of  the  courtiers,  who  had  lately 
professed  great  friendship  to  me,  had  eat  at  my 
house,  and  invited  me  to  theirs  :  but  not  one  would 
return  me  any  answer,  all  running  away  from  me  as 
if  I  had  been  seized  with  some  contagious  distemper. 
I  now  found  by  experience  that,  as  none  can  be.  so 
civil,  so  none  can  be  ruder  than  a  courtier. 

"  A  few  moments  after  the  icing's  retiring  I  was 
left  alone  in  the  room  to  consider  what  I  should  do 
or  whither  I  should  turn  myself.  My  reception  in 
the  city  promised  itself  to  be  equal  at  least  with  what 
I  found  at  court.  However,  there  was  my  home, 
and  thither  it  was  necessary  I  should  retreat  for  the 
present. 

"  But,  indeed,  bad  as  I  apprehended  my  treatment 
in  the  city  would  be,  it  exceeded  my  expectation.  I 
rode  home  on  an  ambling  pad  through  crouds  who 
expressed  every  kind  of  disregard  and  contempt  ; 
pelting  me  not  only  with  the  most  abusive  language, 
but  with  dirt.  However,  with  much  difficulty  I  ar- 
rived at  last  at  my  own  house,  with  my  bones  whole, 
but  covered  over  with  filth. 

[147] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

"When  I  was  got  within  my  doors,  and  had  shut 
them  against  the  mob,  who  had  pretty  well  vented 
their  spleen,  and  seemed  now  contented  to  retire,  my 
wife,  whom  I  found  crying  over  her  children,  and 
from  whom  I  had  hoped  some  comfoit  in  my  afflic- 
tions, fell  upon  me  in  the  most  outrageous  manner. 
Phe  asked  me  why  I  would  venture  on  such  a  step, 
without  consulting  her  ;  she  said  her  advice  might  have 
been  civilly  asked,  if  I  was  resolved  not  to  have  been 
guided  by  it.  That,  whatever  opinion  I  might  have 
conceived  of  her  understanding,  the  rest  of  the  world 
thought  better  of  it.  That  I  had  never  failed  when 
I  had  asked  her  counsel,  nor  ever  succeeded  without 
it ;  —  with  much  more  of  the  same  kind,  too  tedious 
to  mention  ;  concluding  that  it  was  a  monstrous  be- 
haviour to  desert  my  party  and  come  over  to  the 
court.  An  abuse  which  I  took  worse  than  all  the 
rest,  as  she  had  been  constantly  for  several  years 
assiduous  in  railing  at  the  opposition,  in  siding  with 
the  court-party,  and  begging  me  to  come  over  to 
it ;  and  especially  after  my  mentioning  the  offer  of 
kniffhthood  to  her,  since  which  times  she  had  continu- 
ally  interrupted  my  repose  with  dinning  in  my  ears 
the  folly  of  refusing  honours  and  of  adhering  to  a 
party  and  to  principles  by  which  I  was  certain  of 
procuring  no  advantage  to  myself  and  my  family. 

"  I  had  now  entirely  lost  my  trade,  so  that  I  had 
not  the  least  temptation  to  stay  longer  in  a  city  where 
I  was  certain  of  receiving  daily  affronts  and  rebukes. 
I  therefore  made  up  my  affairs  with  the  utmost  ex- 
pedition, and,  scraping  together  all  I  could,  retired 
into  the  country,  where  I  spent  the  remainder  of  my 

[148] 


ATONEMENT  THROUGH  SUFFERING 

days  in  universal  contempt,  being  shunned  by  every- 
body, perpetually  abused  by  my  wife,  and  not  much 
respected  by  my  children. 

"  Minos  told  me,  thouirh  I  had  been  a  very  vile 
fellow,  he  thought  my  sufferings  made  some  atone- 
ment, and  so  bid  me  take  the  other  trial." 


[149] 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FOUR 

JULIAN    RECOUNTS    WHAT    HAPPENED    TO    HIM    WHILE    Hii 

WAS    A    POET. 

ROME  was  now  the  seat  of  my  nativity, 
where  I  was  born  of  a  family  more  re- 
markable for  honour  than  riches.  I  was 
intended  for  the  church,  and  had  a  pretty 
good  education;  but  my  father  dying  while  I  was 
young,  and  leaving  me  nothing,  for  he  had  wasted 
his  whole  patrimony,  I  was  forced  to  enter  myself  in 
the  order  of  mendicants. 

"  When  I  was  at  school  I  had  a  knack  of  rhiming, 
which  I  unhappily  mistook  for  genius,  and  indulged 
to  my  cost ;  for  my  verses  drew  on  me  only  ridicule, 
and  I  was  in  contempt  called  the  poet. 

"  This  humour  pursued  me  through  my  life.  My 
first  composition  after  I  left  school  was  a  panegyric 
on  pope  Alexander  IV.,  who  then  pretended  a  project 
of  dethroning  the  king  of  Sicily.  On  this  subject  I 
composed  a  poem  of  about  fifteen  thousand  lines, 
which  with  much  difficulty  I  got  to  be  presented  to 
his  holiness,  of  whom  I  expected  great  preferment  as 
my  reward ;  but  I  was  cruelly  disappointed  :  for 
when  I  had  waited  a  year,  without  hearing  any  of 
the  connnendations  I  had  flattered  myself  with  re- 
ceiving, and  being  now  able  to  contain  no  longer,  I 

[150] 


POETICAL    WORKS 

applied  to  a  Jesuit  who  was  my  relation,  and  had 
the  pope"'s  ear,  to  know  what  his  holiness's  opinion 
was  of  my  work  :  he  coldly  answered  me  that  he  was 
at  that  time  busied  in  concerns  of  too  much  impor- 
tance to  attend  the  reading  of  poems. 

"  However  dissatisfied  I  might  be,  and  really  was, 
with  this  reception,  and  however  angry  I  was  with 
the  pope,  for  whose  luiderstanding  I  entertained  an 
immoderate  contempt,  I  was  not  yet  discouraged 
from  a  second  attempt.  Accordingly,  I  soon  after 
produced  another  work,  entitled.  The  Trojan  Horse. 
This  was  an  allegorical  work,  in  which  the  church 
was  introduced  into  the  world  in  the  same  manner  as 
that  machine  had  been  into  Troy.  The  priests  were 
the  soldiers  in  its  belly,  and  the  heathen  superstition 
the  city  to  be  destroyed  by  them.  This  poem  was 
written  in  Latin.     I  remember  some  of  the  lines  :  — 

Mundanos  scandit  fatalis  raachina  muros, 
Farta  sacerdotum  turmis  :  exinde  per  alvum 
Visi  exire  omnes,  magno  cum  murmure  olentes. 
Non  aliter  quam  cum  humanis  furibundus  ab  antris 
It  sonus  et  nares  siraul  aura  invadit  hiantes. 
Mille  scatent  et  mille  alii  ;  trepidare  timore 
Ethnica  gens  ccepit :  falsi  per  inane  volantes 
Effugere  Dei  —  Desertaque  templa  relinquunt 
Jam  magnum  crepitavit  equus,  mox  orbis  et  alti 
Ingemuere  poli :  tunc  tu  pater,  ultimus  omnium 
Maxime  Alexander,  ventrem  maturus  equinum 
Deseris,  heu  proles  meliori  digne  parente." 

I  believe  Julian,  had  I  not  stopt  him,  would  have 
gone  through  the  whole  poem  (for,  as  I  observed  in 
most  of  the  characters  lie  related,  the  affections  he 
had  enjoyed  while  he  personated  them  on  earth  still 

[151] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

made  some  impression  on  him) ;  but  I  begged  him 
to  omit  the  sequel  of  the  poem,  and  proceed  with  his 
history.  He  then  recollected  himself,  and,  smiling 
at  the  observation  v,\nc\\  by  intuition  he  perceived  I 
had  made,  continued  liis  narration  as  follows :  — 

"  I  confess  to  you,"  says  he,  "  that  the  delight  in 
repeating  our  own  works  is  so  predominant  in  a  poet, 
that  I  find  nothing  can  totally  root  it  out  of  the 
soul.  Happv  would  it  be  for  those  persons  if  their 
hearers  could  be  delighted  in  the  same  manner  :  but 
al;xs  !  hence'  that  higens  solitudo  complained  of  by 
Horace :  for  the  vanity  of  mankind  is  so  much 
greedier  and  more  general  than  their  avarice,  that 
no  beggar  is  so  ill  received  by  them  as  he  who  solicits 
their  praise. 

"  This  I  sufficiently  experienced  in  the  character  of 
a  poet ;  for  my  company  was  shunned  (I  believe  on 
this  account  chiefly)  by  my  whole  house  :  nay,  there 
were  few  who  would  submit  to  hearing  me  read  my 
poetry,  even  at  the  price  of  sharing  in  my  provisions. 
The  only  person  who  gave  me  audience  was  a  brother 
poet ;  he  indeed  fed  me  with  commendation  very 
liberally  :  but,  as  I  was  forced  to  hear  and  commend 
in  my  turn,  I  perhaps  bought  his  attention  dear 
enough. 

"  Well,  sir,  if  my  expectations  of  the  reward  I 
hoped  from  my  first  poem  had  baulked  me,  I  had 
now  still  greater  reason  to  complain  ;  for,  instead  of 
being  preferred  or  commended  for  the  second,  I  was 
enjoined  a  very  severe  penance  by  my  superior,  for 
ludicrously  comparing  the  pope  to  a  f — t.  My 
poetry  was  now  the  jest  of  every  company,  except 

[  152  J 


DISCOURAGEMENTS 

some  few  who  spoke  of  it  with  detestation  ;  and  I 
found  that,  instead  of  recommending  me  to  prefer- 
ment, it  had  effectaally  barred  me  from  all  probabil- 
ity of  attaining  it. 

"  These  discouragements  had  now  induced  me  to 
lay  down  my  pen  and  write  no  more.  Bat,  as 
Juvenal  says, 

—  Si  discedas,  Laqueo  tenet  ambitiosi 
Consuetude  mali. 

I  was  an  example  of  the  truth  of  this  assertion,  for  I 
soon  betook  myself  again  to  my  muse.  Indeed,  a  poet 
hath  the  same  liappiness  with  a  man  who  is  dotingly 
fond  of  an  ugly  woman.  The  one  enjoys  his  muse, 
and  the  other  his  mistress,  with  a  pleasure  very  little 
abated  by  the  esteem  of  the  world,  and  only  under- 
values their  taste  for  not  corresponding  with  his  own. 

"  It  is  unnecessary  to  niention  any  more  of  my 
poems ;  they  had  all  the  same  fate ;  and  though  in 
reality  some  of  my  latter  pieces  deserved  (I  may  now 
speak  it  without  the  imputation  of  vanity)  a  better 
success,  as  I  had  the  character  of  a  bad  writer,  I 
found  it  iu)possible  ever  to  obtain  the  reputation  of 
a  good  one.  Had  I  possessed  the  merit  of  Homer  I 
could  have  hoped  for  no  applause;  since  it  must 
have  been  a  profound  secret ;  for  no  one  would  now 
read  a  syllable  of  my  writings. 

"  The  poets  of  my  age  were,  as  I  believe  you  know, 
not  very  famous.  Houeyer,  there  was  one  of  some 
credit  at  that  time,  though  I  have  the  consolation 
to  know  his  works  are  all  perished  long  ago.  The 
malice,  envy,  and  hatred  I  bore  this  man  are  incon- 

[153] 


THIS    WOKLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

ceivable  to  any  but  an  author,  and  an  unsuccessful 
one  ;  I  never  could  bear  to  hear  him  well  spoken  of, 
and  writ  anonymous  satires  against  him,  though  I 
had  received  obligations  from  him  ;  indeed  I  believe 
it  would  have  been  an  absolute  impossibility  for  him 
at  any  rate  to  have  made  me  sincerely  his  friend. 

"  I  have  heard  an  observation  which  was  made 
by  some  one  of  later  days,  that  there  are  no  worse 
men  than  bad  authors.  A  remark  of  the  same  kind 
hath  been  made  on  ugly  women,  and  the  truth  of 
both  stands  on  one  and  the  same  reason,  viz.,  that 
they  are  both  tainted  with  that  cursed  and  detest- 
able vice  of  envy  ;  which,  as  it  is  the  greatest  torment 
to  the  mind  it  inhabits,  so  is  it  capable  of  introduc- 
ing into  it  a  total  corruption,  and  of  inspiring  it  to 
the  commission  of  the  most  horrid  crimes  imaginable. 

"  My  life  was  but  short ;  for  I  soon  pined  my- 
self to  death  with  the  vice  I  just  now  mentioned. 
Minos  told  me  I  was  infinitely  too  bad  for  Elysium  ; 
and  as  for  the  other  place,  the  devil  had  sworn  he 
would  never  entertain  a  poet  for  Orpheus's  sake :  so 
I  was  forced  to  return  again  to  the  place  from  whence 
I  came." 


[  154] 


CHAPTER   TWENTY-FIVE 

JULIAN     PERFORMS     THE     PARTS    OF     A     KNIGHT     AND     A 
DANCING-MASTER. 

INO W  mounted  the  stage  in  Sicily,  and  became 
a  knight-templar ;  but,  as  my  adventures  differ 
so  little  from  those  I  have  recounted  you  in 
the  character  of  a  common  soldier,  I  shall  not 
tire  you  with  repetition.  The  solriier  and  the  cap- 
tain differ  in  reality  so  little  from  one  another, 
that  it  requires  an  accurate  judgnient  to  distin- 
guish them  ;  the  latter  wears  finer  cloaths,  and  in 
times  of  success  lives  somewhat  more  delicately  ;  but 
as  to  everything  else,  they  very  nearly  resemble  one 
another. 

"  My  next  step  was  into  France,  where  fortune 
assigned  me  the  part  of  a  dancing-master,  I  was  so 
expert  in  my  profession  that  I  was  brought  to  court 
in  my  youth,  and  had  the  heels  of  Philip  de  Valois, 
who  afterwards  succeeded  Charles  the  Fair,  committed 
to  my  direction. 

"  I  do  not  remember  that  in  any  of  the  characters 
in  which  I  appeared  on  earth  I  ever  assumed  to  my- 
self a  greater  dignity,  or  thought  myself  of  more 
real  importance,  than  now.  I  looked  on  dancing  as 
the  greatest  exc^ellence  of  human  nature,  and  on  my- 
self as  the  greatest   proficient   in  it.     And,  indeed, 

[155] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

this  seemed  to  be  the  general  opinion  of  the  wliole 
court ;  for  I  was  the  chief  instructor  of  the  youth  of 
both  sexes,  whose  merit  was  ahnost  entirely  defined 
by  the  advances  they  made  in  that  science  which  I 
had  the  honour  to  profess.  As  to  myself,  I  was  so 
fully  persuaded  of  this  truth,  that  I  not  only  slighted 
and  despised  those  who  were  ignorant  of  dancing, 
but  I  thought  the  highest  character  I  could  give  any 
man  vas  that  he  made  a  graceful  bow  :  for  want  of 
which  accomplishment  I  had  a  sovereign  contempt 
for  most  persons  of  learning  ;  nay,  for  some  officers 
in  the  army,  and  a  few  even  of  the  courtiers  them- 
selves. 

"  Though  so  little  of  my  youth  had  been  thrown 
away  in  what  they  call  literature  that  I  could  hardly 
write  and  read,  yet  I  composed  a  treatise  on  educa- 
tion ;  the  first  rudiments  of  which,  as  I  taught,  were 
to  instruct  a  child  in  the  science  of  coming  hand- 
somely into  a  room.  In  this  I  corrected  many  faults 
of  my  predecessors,  particularly  that  of  being  too 
much  in  a  hurry,  and  instituting  a  child  in  the  sub- 
limer  parts  of  dancing  before  they  are  capable  of 
making  their  honours. 

"  But  as  I  have  not  now  the  same  high  opinion  of 
my  profession  which  I  had  then,  I  shall  not  entertain 
3^ou  with  a  long  history  of  a  life  which  consisted  of 
borees  and  coupees.  Let  it  suffice  that  I  lived  to  a 
very  old  age  and  followed  my  business  as  long  as  I 
could  crawl.  At  length  I  revisited  my  old  friend 
Minos,  who  treated  me  with  very  little  respect  and 
bade  nie  dance  back  again  to  earth. 

"  I  did  so,  and  was  now  once  more  born  an  Eng- 

[156] 


A    BISHOP'S    STATIOxN 

lishnian,  bred  np  to  the  church,  and  at  length  ar- 
rived to  the  station  of  a  bishop. 

"  Nothing  was  so  remarkable  in  this  character  as 
my  always  voting ^Z'' 

1  Here  part  of  the  manuscript  is  lost,  and  that  a  very  con- 
siderable one,  as  appears  by  the  number  of  the  next  book  and 
chapter,  which  contains,  I  find,  the  history  of  Anna  Boleyn  ; 
but  as  to  the  manner  in  which  it  was  introduced,  or  to  whom 
the  narrative  is  told,  we  are  totally  left  in  the  dark.  I  have 
only  to  remark,  that  this  chapter  is,  in  the  original,  writ  in  a 
woman's  hand  :  and,  though  the  observations  in  it  are,  I  think, 
as  excellent  as  any  in  the  whole  volume,  there  seems  to  be  a 
difference  in  style  between  this  and  the  preceding  chapters  ; 
and,  as  it  is  the  character  of  a  woman  which  is  related,  I  am 
inclined  to  fancy  it  was  really  written  by  one  of  that  sex. 


[157] 


BOOK  XIX 


CHAPTER    SEVEN 

WHEEEEN     ANNA     BOLEYN     RELATES      THE      HISTORY     OF 

HEE   LIFE. 

I  AM  going  now  truly  to  recount  a  life  which 
from  the  time  of  its  ceasing  has  been,  in  the 
other  world,  the  continual  subject  of  the  cavils 
of  contending  parties  ;  the  one  making  me  as 
black  as  hell,  the  other  as  pure  and  innocent  as  the 
inhabitants  of  this  blessed  place  ;  the  mist  of  preju- 
dice blinding  their  eyes,  and  zeal  for  what  they 
themselves  profess,  making  everything  appear  in 
that  light  which  they  think  most  conduces  to  its 
honour. 

"  My  infancy  was  spent  in  my  father''s  house,  in 
those  childish  plays  which  are  most  suitable  to  that 
state,  and  I  think  this  was  one  of  the  happiest  parts 
of  my  life ;  for  my  parents  were  not  among  the  num- 
ber of  those  who  look  upon  their  children  as  so 
many  objects  of  a  tyrannic  power,  but  I  was  regarded 
as  the  dear  pledge  of  a  virtuous  love,  and  all  my 
little  pleasures  were  thought  from  their  indulgence 
their  greatest  delight.  At  seven  years  old  I  was 
carried  into  France  with  the  king's  sister,  who  was 
married  to  the  French  king,  where  I  lived  with  a 

[158] 


ANNA    BOLEYN'S    YOUTH 

person  of  quality,  who  was  an  acquaintance  of  mj 
father's,  I  spent  my  time  in  learning  those  things 
necessary  to  give  young  persons  of  fashion  a  polite 
education,  and  did  neither  good  nor  evil,  but  day 
passed  after  day  in  the  same  easy  way  till  I  was  four- 
teen ;  then  began  my  anxiety,  my  vanity  grew  strong, 
and  my  heart  fluttered  with  joy  at  every  compliment 
paid  to  my  beauty  :  and  as  the  lady  with  whom  I 
lived  was  of  a  gay,  chearful  disposition,  she  kept  a 
great  deal  of  company,  and  my  youth  and  charms 
made  me  the  continual  object  of  their  admiration. 
I  passed  some  little  time  in  those  exulting  raptures 
which  are  felt  by  every  woman  perfectly  satisfied 
with  herself  and  with  the  behaviour  of  others  towards 
her  :  I  was,  when  very  young,  promoted  to  be  maid 
of  honour  to  her  majesty.  The  court  was  frequented 
by  a  young  nobleman  whose  beauty  was  the  chief 
subject  of  conversation  in  all  assemblies  of  ladies. 
The  delicacy  of  his  person,  added  to  a  great  softness 
in  his  manner,  gave  everything  he  said  and  did  such 
an  air  of  tenderness,  that  every  woman  he  spoke  to 
flattered  herself  with  being  the  object  of  his  love. 
I  was  one  of  those  who  was  vain  enough  of  my  own 
charms  to  hope  to  make  a  conquest  of  him  whom 
the  whole  court  sighed  for.  I  now  thought  every 
other  object  below  my  notice;  yet  the  only  pleasure 
I  proposed  to  myself  in  this  design  was,  the  tri- 
umphing over  that  heart  wliich  I  plainly  saw  all  the 
ladies  of  the  highest  (jualitv  aud  the  greatest  beauty 
would  have  been  proud  of  possessing.  I  was  yet  too 
young  to  be  very  artful ;  but  nature,  without  any 
assistance,  soon  discovers  to  a  man   who  is  used  to 

[  159  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

gallantly  a  woman''s  desire  to  be  liked  by  him, 
whether  that  desire  arises  from  any  particular  choice 
she  makes  of  him,  or  only  from  vanity.  He  soon 
perceived  my  thoughts,  and  gratified  my  utmost 
wishes  by  constantly  preferring  me  before  all  other 
women,  and  exerting  his  utmost  gallantry  and  address 
to  engage  my  affections.  This  sudden  happiness, 
which  I  then  thought  the  greatest  I  could  have  had, 
appeared  visible  in  all  my  actions  ;  I  grew  so  gay  and 
so  full  of  vivacity,  that  it  made  my  person  appear 
still  to  a  better  advantage,  all  my  acquaintance 
pi'etending  to  be  fonder  of  me  than  ever :  though, 
young  as  I  was,  I  plainly  saw  it  was  but  pretence, 
for  through  all  their  endeavours  to  the  contrary 
envy  would  often  break  forth  in  sly  insinuations 
and  malicious  sneers,  which  gave  me  fresh  matter 
of  triumph,  and  frequent  opportunities  of  insulting 
them,  which  I  never  let  slip,  for  now  first  my  female 
heart  grew  sensible  of  the  spiteful  pleasure  of  seeing 
another  languish  for  what  I  enjoyed.  Whilst  I  was 
in  the  height  of  my  happiness  her  majesty  fell  ill  of 
a  languishing  distemper,  wliich  obliged  her  to  go 
into  the  country  for  the  change  of  air :  my  place 
made  it  necessary  for  me  to  attend  her,  and  which 
way  he  brought  it  about  I  can't  imagine,  but  my 
young  hero  found  means  to  be  one  of  that  small 
ti'ain  that  waited  on  my  royal  mistress,  although 
she  went  as  privately  as  possible.  Hitherto  all  the 
interviews  I  had  ever  had  with  him  were  in  public, 
and  I  only  looked  on  him  as  the  fitter  object  to  feed 
that  pride  which  had  no  other  view  but  to  shew  its 
power ;  but  now  the  scene  was  quite  changed.     My 

[160] 


DISAPPOINTMENT 

rivals  were  all  at  a  distance ;  tlie  place  we  went  to 
was  as  charm ing  as  the  most  agreeable  natural  sit- 
uation, assisted  by  the  greatest  art,  could  make  it ; 
the  pleasant  solitary  walks,  the  singing  of  birds, 
the  thousand  pretty  romantic  scenes  this  delightful 
place  afforded,  gave  a  sudden  turn  to  my  mind  ;  my 
whole  soul  was  melted  into  softness,  and  all  my  van- 
ity was  fled.  My  spark  was  too  much  used  to  affairs 
of  this  nature  not  to  perceive  this  change  ;  at  first 
the  profuse  transports  of  his  joy  made  me  believe 
him  wholly  mine,  and  this  belief  gave  me  such  hap- 
piness that  no  language  affords  words  to  express  it, 
and  can  be  only  known  to  those  who  have  felt  it. 
But  this  was  of  a  very  short  duration,  for  I  soon 
found  I  had  to  do  with  one  of  those  men  whose  only 
end  in  the  pursuit  of  a  woman  is  to  make  her  fiill  a 
victim  to  an  insatiable  desire  to  be  admired.  His 
designs  had  succeeded,  and  now  he  every  day  gi-ew 
colder,  and,  as  if  by  infatuation,  my  pnssion  every 
day  increased ;  and,  notwithstanding  all  my  resolu- 
tions and  endeavours  to  the  contrary,  my  rage  at 
the  disappointment  at  once  both  of  my  love  and 
pride,  and  at  the  finding  a  passion  fixed  in  my  breast 
I  knew  not  how  to  conquer,  broke  out  into  that 
inconsistent  behaviour  which  must  always  be  the 
consequence  of  violent  passions.  One  moment  I  re- 
proached him,  the  next  I  grew  to  tenderness  and 
blamed  myself,  and  thought  I  fancied  what  was  not 
true  :  he  saw  my  struggle  Jind  triumphed  in  it;  but, 
as  he  had  not  witnesses  enough  there  of  his  victory  . 
to  give  him  the  full  enjoyment  of  it,  he  grew  weary 
of  the  country  and  returned  to  Paris,  and  left  me  iu 

VOL.  I.  —  11  [    161    J 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

a  condition  it  is  utterly  impossible  to  describe.  My 
mind  was  like  a  city  up  in  arms,  all  confusion  ;  and 
every  new  thought  was  a  fresh  disturber  of  my  peace. 
Sleep  quite  forsook  me,  and  the  anxiety  I  suffered 
threw  me  into  a  fever  which  liad  like  to  have  cost 
me  my  life.  With  great  care  I  recovered,  but  the 
violence  of  the  distemper  left  such  a  weakness  on  my 
body  that  the  disturbance  of  my  mind  was  greatly 
assuaged  ;  and  now  I  began  to  comfort  myself  in 
the  reflection  that  this  gentleman''s  being  a  finished 
cotjuet  was  very  likely  the  only  thing  could  have 
preserved  me  ;  for  he  was  the  only  man  from  whom 
I  was  ever  in  any  danger.  By  that  time  I  was 
got  tolerably  well  we  returned  to  Paris ;  and  I 
confess  I  both  wished  and  feared  to  see  this  cause  of 
all  my  pain  :  however,  I  hoped,  by  the  lielp  of  my 
resentment,  to  be  able  to  meet  him  with  indiffer- 
ence. This  employed  my  thoughts  till  our  arrival. 
The  next  day  there  was  a  very  full  court  to  con- 
gratulate the  queen  on  her  recovery  ;  and  amongst 
the  rest  my  love  appeared  dressed  and  adorned  as  if 
he  designed  some  new  conc][uest.  Instead  of  seeing  a 
woman  he  despised  and  slighted,  he  approached  me 
Avith  that  assured  air  which  is  common  to  successful 
coxcombs.  At  the  same  time  I  pei'ceived  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  all  those  ladies  who  were  on  his  account 
my  greatest  enemies,  and,  in  revenge,  wished  for 
nothing  more  than  to  see  me  make  a  ridiculous 
figure.  This  situation  so  perplexed  my  thoughts, 
that  when  he  came  near  enough  to  speak  to  me,  I 
fainted  away  in  his  arms.  Had  I  studied  which  way 
I  could  gratify  him  most,  it  was  impossible  to  have 

[  162  ] 


AN    EMBARRASSING    SCENE 

done  anything  to  have  pleased  him  more.  Some  that 
stood  by  bi'ought  smeUing-bottles,  and  used  means 
for  my  recovery  ;  and  I  was  welcomed  to  returning 
life  by  all  those  repartees  which  women  enraged  by 
envy  are  capable  of  venting.  One  cried,  '  Well,  I 
never  thought  my  lord  had  anything  so  frightful  in 
his  person  or  so  fierce  in  his  manner  as  to  strike  a 
young  lady  dead  at  the  sight  of  him.''  '  No,  no,'  says 
another,  '  some  ladies'  senses  are  more  apt  to  be  hur- 
ried by  agreeable  than  disagreeable  objects.''  With 
many  more  such  sort  of  speeches  which  shewed  more 
malice  than  wit.  This  not  being  able  to  bear, 
trembling,  and  with  but  just  strength  enough  to 
move,  I  crawled  to  my  coach  and  hurried  home. 
When  I  was  alone,  and  thought  on  what  had  hap- 
pened to  me  in  a  public  coui't,  I  was  at  first  driven 
to  the  utmost  despair ;  but  afterwards,  when  I  came 
to  reflect,  I  believe  this  accident  contributed  more  to 
my  being  cured  of  my  passion  than  any  other  could 
have  done.  I  began  to  think  the  only  method  to 
pique  the  man  who  had  used  me  so  barbarously,  and 
to  be  revenged  on  my  spightful  rivals,  was  to  recover 
that  beauty  which  was  then  languid  and  had  lost  its 
lustre,  to  let  them  see  I  had  still  charms  enough  to 
engage  as  many  lovers  as  I  could  desire,  and  that  I 
could  yet  rival  them  who  had  thus  cruelly  insulted 
me.  These  pleasing  hopes  revived  my  sinking  spirits, 
and  worked  a  more  eft'ectual  cure  on  me  than  all  the 
philosophy  and  advice  of  the  wisest  men  could  have 
done.  I  now  employed  all  my  time  and  care  in  adorn- 
ing my  person,  and  studying  the  surest  means  of 
engaging  the  affections  of  others,  while  I  myself  con- 

[1G3] 


THIS    WOULD    TO    THE    NEXT 

tinned  quite  indifferent ;  for  I  resolved  for  the  future, 
if  ever  one  soft  thought  made  its  way  to  my  heart,  to 
flv  the  ohject  of  it,  and  by  new  lovers  to  drive  the 
image  from  my  breast.     I  consulted  my  glass  every 
morning,  and  got   such  a  connnand  of  my  counte- 
nance that  I  could  suit  it  to  the  different  tastes  of 
variety  of  lovers  ;  and  thougli  I  was  young,  for  I  was 
not  yet  above  seventeen,  yet  my  public  way  of  life 
gave  me  such  continual  opportunities  of  conversing 
with  men,  and  the  strong  desire  I  now  had  of  pleas- 
ing them  led  me  to  make  such  constant  observations 
on  everything  they  said  or  did,  that  I  soon  found 
put  the  diflferent  methods  of  dealing  with  them.     I 
observed  that   most  men  generally  liked  in  women 
what  was   most   opposite  to   their  own   cliaracters; 
therefore  to  the  grave  solid  man  of  sense  I  endeav- 
oured to  appear  sprightly  and  full  of  spirit ;  to  the 
witty  and  gay,  soft  and  languishing;  to  the  amorous 
(for  they  want  no  increase  of  their  passions),  cold  and 
reserved  ;   to   the   fearful  and  backward,  warm   and 
full  of  fire  ;  and  so  of  all   the  rest.     As  to  beaus, 
and  all  those  sort  of  men,  whose  desires  are  centred 
in  the  satisfaction  of  their  vanity,  I  had  learned  by 
gad  experience  the  only  way  to  deal  with  them  was 
to  laugh  at  them  and  let  their  own  good  opinion  of 
themselves  be  the  only  support  of  their  hopes.     I 
knew,  while  I  could  get  other  followers,  I  was  sure 
of  them ;    for  the  only   sign  of  n)odesty  they  ever 
give  is  that  of  not   depending  on  their  own  judg- 
ments, but   following  the  opinions   of  the  greatest 
number.     Thus  furnished  with  maxims,  and  grown 
wise  by  past  errors,  I  in  a  manner  began  the  world 

[164] 


SOCIAL    SUCCESS 

again  :  I  appeared  in  all  public  places  handsomer  and 
more  lively  than  ever,  to  the  amazement  of  every  one 
who  saw  me  and  had  heard  of  the  affair  between  me 
and  my  lord.  He  himself  was  much  surprized  and 
vexed  at  the  sudden  cliange,  nor  could  he  account 
how  it  was  possible  for  me  so  soon  to  shake  off  those 
chains  he  thought  he  had  fixed  on  me  for  life ;  nor 
was  he  willing  to  lose  his  conquest  in  this  manner. 
He  endeavoured  by  all  means  possible  to  talk  to  me 
again  of  love,  but  I  stood  fixed  to  my  resolution  (in 
which  I  was  greatly  assisted  by  the  croud  of  admirers 
that  daily  surrounded  me)  never  to  let  him  explain 
himself:  for,  notwithstanding  all  my  pride,  I  found 
the  first  impression  the  heart  receives  of  love  is  so 
strong  that  it  requires  the  most  vigilant  care  to  pre- 
vent a  relapse.  Now  I  lived  three  year.^  in  a  constant 
round  of  diversions,  and  was  made  the  perfect  idol  of 
all  the  men  that  came  to  court  of  all  ages  and  all 
characters.  I  had  several  good  matches  offered  me, 
but  I  thought  none  of  them  equal  to  my  merit ;  and 
one  of  my  greatest  pleasures  was  to  see  those  women 
who  had  {oretended  to  rival  me  often  glad  to  mai'ry 
those  whom  I  h:id  refused.  Yet,  notwithstanding 
this  great  succe-s  of  my  schemes,  I  camiot  say  I  was 
perfectly  happy  ;  for  every  woman  that  was  taken 
the  least  notice  of,  and  every  man  that  was  insen- 
sible to  mv  arts,  gave  nie  as  nuuh  pain  as  all  the  rest 
gave  me  pleasure ;  and  sometimes  little  underhand 
plots  which  were  laid  against  mv  designs  would  suc- 
ceed in  s[)ite  of  my  care  :  so  th;it  I  really  began  to 
grow  wearv  of  this  manner  of  life,  when  mv  father, 
retuiTiing  from  his  embassv  in  France,  took  me  home 

[165] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

witli  him,  and  carried  me  to  a  little  pleasant  country- 
house,  where  there  was  nothing  grand  or  superfluous, 
but  everything  neat  and  agreeable.  There  I  led  a 
life  perfectly  solitary.  At  first  the  time  hung  very 
lieavy  on  my  hands,  and  I  wanted  all  kind  of  em- 
ployment, and  I  had  very  like  to  have  fallen  into  the 
height  of  the  vapours,  from  no  other  reason  but  from 
want  of  knowing  what  to  do  with  myself.  But  when 
I  had  lived  here  a  little  time  I  found  such  a  calmness 
in  my  mind,  and  such  a  difference  between  this  and 
the  restless  anxieties  I  had  experienced  in  a  court, 
that  I  began  to  share  the  tranquillity  that  visibly 
appeared  in  everything  round  me.  I  set  myself  to 
do  works  of  fancy,  and  to  raise  little  flower-gardens, 
with  many  such  innocent  rui-al  amusements  ;  which, 
although  they  are  not  capable  of  affording  any  great 
pleasure,  yet  they  give  that  serene  turn  to  the  mind 
which  I  think  much  preferable  to  anything  else 
human  nature  is  made  susceptible  of.  I  now  re- 
solved to  spend  the  rest  of  my  days  here,  and  that 
nothing  should  allure  me  from  that  sweet  retirement, 
to  be  again  tossed  about  with  tempestuous  passions 
of  any  kind.  Whilst  I  was  in  this  situation  my 
lord  Percy,  the  earl  of  Northumberland's  eldest 
son,  by  an  accident  of  losing  his  way  after  a  fox- 
chase,  was  met  by  my  father  about  a  mile  from  our 
house  ;  he  came  home  with  him,  only  with  a  design 
of  dining  with  us,  but  was  so  taken  with  me  that  he 
stayed  three  days.  I  had  too  much  experience  in  all 
affairs  of  this  kind  not  to  see  presently  the  influence 
I  had  on  him  ;  but  I  was  at  that  time  so  intirely  free 
from  all  ambition,  that  even  the  prospect  of  being 

[166  J 


LORD    PERCY^S    ADDRESSES 

a  countess  had  no  effect  on  me  ;  and  I  then  thought 
nothing  in  the  world  could  have  bribed  nie  to  have 
changed  uij  way  of  life.  This  young  lord,  who 
was  just  in  his  bloom,  found  his  passion  so  strong, 
he  could  not  endure  a  long  absence,  but  re- 
turned again  in  a  week,  and  endeavoured,  by  all 
the  means  he  could  think  of,  to  engage  me  to  return 
his  aflPection.  He  addressed  me  with  that  tender- 
ness and  respect  which  women  on  earth  think  can 
flow  from  nothing  but  real  love  ;  and  very  often  told 
me  that,  unless  he  could  be  so  happy  as  by  his  as- 
siduity and  care  to  make  himself  agreeable  to  me, 
although  he  knew  my  father  would  eagerly  embrace 
any  proposal  from  him,  yet  he  would  suffer  that 
last  of  rriiseries  of  never  seeing  me  moi-e  rather 
than  owe  his  own  happiness  to  anything  that  might 
be  the  least  contradiction  to  my  inclinations.  This 
manner  of  proceeding  had  something  in  it  so  noble 
and  generous,  that  by  degi-ees  it  raised  a  sensation 
in  me  which  I  know  not  how  to  describe,  nor  by 
what  name  to  call  it :  it  was  nothing  like  my  former 
passion :  for  there  was  no  turbulence,  no  uneasy 
waking  nights  attending  it,  but  all  I  could  with 
honour  grant  to  oblige  him  appeared  to  me  to  be 
justly  due  to  his  truth  and  love,  and  more  the  effect 
of  gratitude  than  of  any  desire  of  my  own.  The 
character  I  had  heard  of  him  from  my  father  at  my 
first  returning  to  England,  in  discoursing  of  the 
young  nobility,  convinced  me  that  if  I  was  his  wife 
I  should  have  the  perpetual  satisfaction  of  knowing 
every  action  of  his  must  be  ap{)roved  by  all  the 
sensible  part  of  mankind  ;  so  that  very  soon  I  began 

[  167  ] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

to  have  no  scruple  left  but  that  of  leaving  my  little 
scene   of   quietness,  and    venturing    again    into   the 
\\orl(l.     But  this,  by  his  continual  application  and 
.submissive  behaviour,  by  degrees  entirely  vanished, 
and  I  agreed  he  should  take  his  own  time  to  break 
it  to  my  father,  whose  consent  he  was  hot  long  in 
obtaining ;  for  such  a  match  was  by  no  means  to  be 
refused.     There  remained  nothint;  now  to  b^  done 
but  to  prevail  with  the  earl  of  Northumberland  to 
comply  with  what  his  son  so  ardently  desired  ;  for 
which  purpose  he  set  out  immediately  for  London, 
and  begged  it  as  the  greatest  favour  that  I  would 
accompany  jny  father,  who   was  also  to  go  thither 
the  week  following.     I  could  not  refuse  his  request, 
and  as  soon  as  we  arrived  in  town  he  flew  to  me  with 
the  greatest  raptures  to  inform  me  his  father  was  so 
good    that,  finding  his    happiness  depended    on  his 
answer,  he  had  given  him  free  leave  to  act  in  this 
affair  as  would  best  please  himself,  and  that  he  had 
now  no  obstacle  to  prevent  his  wishes.     It  was  then 
the  beginning  of  the  winter,  and  the  time  for  our 
marriage  was  fixed  for  the  latter  end  of  March  :  the 
consent  of  all  j)arties   made  his  access  to  me  very 
easy,  and  we  conversed  together  both  with  innocence 
and  pleasure.     As  his  fondness  was  so  great  that  he 
contrived  all  the  methods  possible  to  keep  me  con- 
tinually in  his  sight,  he  told  me  one  morning  he  was 
connnanded  by  his    father  to    attend  him  to  court 
that  evening,  and  begged  I  would  be  so  good  as  to 
meet   him  there.     I   was  now  so  used  to  act  as  he 
would  have  me  that  I  made  no  difficulty  of  comply- 
ing with  his  desire.     Two  days  after  this,  I  was  very 

[168] 


,       THE    CARDINAL^S    OPPOSITION 

much  surprized  at  perceiving  such  a  melancholy  i.i 
his  countenance,  and  alteration  in  his  behaviour,  as 
I  could  no  way  account  for  ;  but,  by  importunity,  at 
last  I  got  from  him  that  cai'dinal  Wolsey,  for  what 
reason   he   knew  not,  had  peremptorily   forbid  him 
to  think  any  more  of  me  :  and,  when  he  urged  that 
his  father  was  not  displeased  with  it,  the  cardinal, 
in   his  imperious   manner,  answered  him,  he  should 
give    his    father    such    convincing    reasons    why    it 
would  be  attended  with  great  inconveniences,  that 
he  was  sure  he  could  bring  him  to  be  of  his  opin- 
ion.    On  which  he  turned  from  him,  and  gave  him 
no  opportunity  of  replying.      I   could  not  imagine 
what   desio-n   the   cardinal  could   have  in  intermed- 
dling    in    this    match,    and    I    was    still    more    per- 
plexed to  find  that  my  father  treated  my  lord  Percy 
with  much  more  coldness  than  usual  ;  he  too  saw  it, 
and  we  both  wondered  what  could  possibly  be  the 
cause  of  all  this.     But  it  was  not  long  before  the 
mystery  was  all  made  clear  by  my  father,  who,  send- 
ing for  me  one  day  into  his  chamber,  let  me  into  a 
secret  which  was  as   little   wished   for   as   expected. 
He  began  with  the  surprizing  effects  of  youth  and 
beauty,  and  the  madness  of  letting  go  those  advan- 
tages they  might  procure  us  till  it  was  too  late,  when 
we  might  wish  in  vain  to  bring  them  back  again.     I 
stood  amazed  at  this  beginning  ;  he  saw  my  confu- 
sion, and  bid   me  sit  down  and  attend  to  what  he 
was  going  to  tell  me,  which  was  of  the  greatest  con- 
sequence ;  and  he  hoped  I  would  be  wise  enough  to 
take  his  advice,  and  act  as  he  should  think  best  for 
my  future  welfare.     He  then  asked  me  if  I  should 

[  16^  J 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

not  be  much  pleased  to  be  a  queen  ?  I  answered, 
with  the  greatest  earnestness,  that,  so  far  from  it,  I 
would  not  live  in  a  court  again  to  be  the  greatest 
queen  in  the  world ;  that  I  had  a  lover  who  was 
both  desirous  and  able  to  raise  my  station  even  be- 
yond my  wishes.  I  found  this  discourse  was  very 
displeasing ;  my  father  frowned,  and  called  me  a 
romantic  fool,  and  said  if  I  would  hearken  to  him 
he  could  make  me  a  queen  ;  for  the  cardinal  had  told 
him  that  the  king,  from  the  time  he  saw  me  at  court 
the  other  night,  liked  me,  and  intended  to  get  a 
divorce  from  his  wife,  and  to  put  me  in  her  place  ; 
and  ordered  him  to  find  some  method  to  make  me  a 
maid  of  honour  to  her  present  majesty,  that  in  the 
meantime  he  might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing 
me.  It  is  impossible  to  express  the  astonishment 
these  words  threw  me  into ;  and,  notwithstanding 
that  the  moment  before,  when  it  appeared  at  so 
great  a  distance,  I  w  as  very  sincere  in  my  declaration 
how  much  it  was  against  my  will  to  be  raised  so 
high,  yet  now  the  prospect  came  nearer,  I  confess  my 
heart  fluttered,  and  my  eyes  were  dazzled  with  a  view 
of  being  seated  on  a  throne.  My  imagination  pre- 
sented before  me  all  the  pomp,  power,  and  greatness 
that  attend  a  crown  ;  and  I  was  so  perplexed  I  knew 
not  what  to  answer,  but  remained  as  silent  as  if 
I  had  lost  the  use  of  my  speech.  My  father,  who 
guessed  what  it  was  that  made  me  in  this  condition, 
proceeded  to  bring  all  the  arguments  he  thought 
most  likely  to  bend  me  to  his  will;  at  last  I  recov- 
ered from  this  dream  of  gi-andeur,  and  begged  him, 
by  all  the  most  cndcarin£>;  names  I  could  think  of, 


LORD    PERCY^S    UNSELFISHNESS 

not  to  urge  me  dishonourably  to  forsake  the  man 
who  I  was  convinced  would  raise  me  to  an  empire  if 
in  his  power,  and  who  had  enough  in  his  power  to 
give  me  all  I  desired.  But  he  was  deaf  to  all  I  could 
say,  and  insisted  that  by  next  week  I  should  prepare 
myself  to  go  to  court :  he  bid  me  consider  of  it,  and 
not  prefer  a  ridiculous  notion  of  honour  to  the  real 
interest  of  my  whole  family  ;  but,  above  all  things, 
not  to  disclose  what  he  had  trusted  me  with.  On 
which  he  left  me  to  my  own  thoughts.  When  I  was 
alone  I  reflected  how  little  real  tenderness  this  behav- 
iour shewed  to  me,  whose  happiness  he  did  not  at  all 
consult,  but  only  looked  on  me  as  a  ladder,  on  which 
he  could  climb  to  the  height  of  his  own  ambitious 
desires :  and  when  I  thought  on  his  fondness  for  me 
in  my  infancy  I  could  impute  it  to  nothing  but 
either  the  liking  me  as  a  plaything  or  the  gratifi- 
cation of  his  vanity  in  my  beauty.  But  I  was  too 
much  divided  between  a  crown  and  my  engagement 
to  lord  Percy  to  spend  much  time  in  thinking  of 
anything  else ;  and,  although  my  fether  had  posi- 
tivelv  foi'bid  me,  yet,  when  he  came  next,  I  could 
not  help  acquainting  him  with  all  that  had  passed, 
with  the  reserve  only  of  the  struggle  in  my  own 
mind  on  the  first  mention  of  being  a  queen.  I  ex- 
pected he  would  have  received  the  news  with  the 
greatest  agonies ;  but  he  shewed  no  vast  emotion  : 
however,  he  could  not  help  turning  pale,  and,  taking 
me  by  the  hand,  looked  at  me  with  an  air  of  tender- 
ness, and  said,  '  If  being  a  queen  would  make  you 
happy,  and  it  is  in  your  power  to  be  so,  I  would 
pot  for  the  world  prevent  it,  let  me  suffer  what  I 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

will."'     This  amazing  greatness  of  mind  had  en  me 
quite  the  contrary  effect  fi'om  what  it  ought  to  haVe 
had  ;  for,  instead  of  increasing  my  love  for  him  it 
almost  put  an  end  to  it,  and  I  began  to  think,  if  he 
could  part  with  me,  the  matter  was  not  much.     And 
I  am  convinced,  when  any  man  gives  up  the  possession 
of  a  woman  whose  consent  he  has  once  obtained,  let 
his  motive  be  ever  so  generous,  he  will  disoblige  her. 
I  could  not  help  shewing  my  dissatisfaction,  and  told 
him  I  was  very  glad  this  affair  sat  so  easily  on  him. 
He  had  not  power  to  answer,  but  was  so  suddenly 
struck  with  this  unexpected  ill-natured  turn  I  gave  his 
behaviour,  that  he  stood  amazed  for  some  time,  and 
then  bowed  and  left  me.     Now  I  was  again  left  to  my 
own  reflections  ;  but  to  makeanythino;  intelli«rible  out 
of  them  is  quite  impossible  :   I  wished  to  be  a  queen, 
and  wished  I  might  not  be  one  :   I   would  have  my 
lord  Percy  happy  without  me  ;  and   yet  I  would  not 
have  the  power  of  my  charms  be  so  weak  that  he  could 
bear  the  thought  of  life  after  being  disappointed  in  my 
love.     But  the  result  of  all  these  confused  thoudits 
was  a  resolution  to   obey  my  fathei'.     I  am  afraid 
there  was  not  much  duty  in  the  case,  though  at  that 
time  I  was  glad  to  take  hold  of  that  small  shadow 
to  save  me  from  looking  on  my  own  actions  in  the 
true  light.     When  my  lover  came  again  I  looked  on 
him  with  that  coldness  that  he  could  not  bear,  on 
purpose  to  rid  myself  of  all  importunity:  for  since 
I  had  resolved  to  use  him  ill  I  regai'ded  him  as  the 
monument  of  my  shame,  and  his  every  look  appeared 
to  me  to  upbraid  me.     My  father  soon  carried  me  to 
court ;  there  I  had  no  vei'y  hard  part  to  act ;  tbi-, 

[  m.  \ 


THE    KING^S    ATTENTIONS 

with  the  experience  I  had  had  of  mankind,  I  could 
find  no  great  difficulty  in  managing  a  man  who  liked 
me,  and  for  whom  I  not  only  did  not  care  but  had  an 
utter  aversion  to :  but  this  aversion  he  believed  to 
be  virtue ;  for  how  credulous  is  a  man  who  has  an 
inclination  to  believe !  And  I  took  care  sometimes 
to  drop  words  of  cottages  and  love,  and  how  happy 
the  woman  was  who  fixed  her  affections  on  a  man 
in  such  a  station  of  life  that  she  miiiht  show  her 
love  without  being  suspected  of  hypocrisy  or  mer- 
cenary views.  All  this  was  swallowed  very  easily 
by  the  amorous  king,  who  pushed  on  the  divorce  with 
the  utmost  impetuosity,  although  the  affair  lasted  a 
good  while,  and  I  remained  most  part  of  the  time 
behind  the  curtain.  Whenever  the  king  mentioned 
it  to  me  I  used  sucli  argumeirts  against  it  as  I  thought 
the  most  likely  to  make  him  the  more  eager  for  it ; 
begging  that,  unless  his  conscience  was  really  touched, 
he  would  not  on  my  account  give  any  grief  to  his 
virtuous  queen  ;  for  in  being  her  handmaid  I  thought 
myself  highly  honoured ;  and  that  I  would  not  only 
forego  a  crown,  but  even  give  up  the  pleasure  of  ever 
seeing  him  more,  rather  than  wrong  my  royal  mistress. 
This  way  of  talking,  joined  to  his  eager  desire  to 
possess  my  person,  convinced  the  king  so  strongly  of 
my  exalted  merit,  that  he  thought  it  a  meritorious  act 
to  displace  the  woman  (whom  he  could  not  have  so  good 
an  opinion  of,  because  he  was  tired  of  her),  and  to  put 
me  in  her  place.  After  about  a  year's  stay  at  court, 
as  the  king's  love  to  me  began  to  be  talked  of,  it  was 
thought  proper  to  remove  me,  that  there  might  be 
no  umbrage  given  to  the  queen's  party.     I  was  forced 

[173] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

to  comply  with  this,  though  greatly  against  my  will ; 
for  I  was  very  jealous  that  absence  might  change  the 
kino-'s  mind.  I  retired  again  with  my  father  to  his 
country-seat,  but  it  had  no  longer  those  charms  for 
me  which  I  once  enjoyed  there  ;  for  my  mind  was 
now  too  much  taken  up  with  ambition  to  make  room 
for  any  other  thoughts.  During  my  stay  here,  my 
royal  lover  often  sent  gentlemen  to  me  with  mes- 
sages and  letters,  which  I  always  answered  in  the 
manner  I  thought  would  best  bring  about  my  de- 
signs, which  were  to  come  back  again  to  court.  In 
all  the  letters  that  passed  between  us  there  was 
something  so  kingly  and  commanding  in  his,  and 
so  deceitful  and  submissive  in  mine,  that  I  some- 
times could  not  help  reflecting  on  the  difference  be- 
twixt this  correspondence  and  that  with  lord  Percy  ; 
yet  I  was  so  pressed  forward  by  the  desire  of  a  crown, 
I  could  not  think  of  turning  back.  In  all  I  wrote  I 
continually  praised  his  resolution  of  letting  me  be  at 
a  distance  from  him,  since  at  this  time  it  conduced 
indeed  to  my  honour  ;  but,  what  was  of  ten  times 
more  weight  with  me,  I  thought  it  was  necessary  for 
his ;  and  I  would  sooner  suffer  anything  in  the  world 
than  be  any  means  of  hurt  to  him,  either  in  his  in- 
terest or  reputation.  I  alwavs  gave  some  hints  of 
ill  health,  with  some  reflections  how  necessary  the 
peace  of  the  mind  was  to  that  of  the  body.  By 
these  means  I  brought  him  to  recal  me  again  by 
the  most  absolute  connnand,  which  I,  for  a  little 
time,  artfully  delayed  (for  I  knew  the  impatience 
of  his  temper  would  not  bear  any  contradictions), 
till  he  made  my  father  in  a  manner  force  me  to  w  hat 

'  [ 17i  ] 


PLOTS    AGAINST    THE    QUEEN 

I  iuo.st  wished,  with  the  utmost  appearance  of  reluc- 
tance on  my  side.  When  I  liad  gained  this  point  I 
began  to  think  which  way  I  could  separate  the  king 
from  the  queen,  for  hitherto  they  lived  in  the  same 
house.  The  lady  Mary,  the  queen's  daughter,  being 
then  about  sixteen,  I  sought  for  emissaries  of  her 
own  age  that  I  could  confide  in,  to  instil  into 
her  mind  disrespectful  thoughts  of  her  father,  and 
make  a  jest  of  the  tenderness  of  his  conscience  about 
the  divoix'e.  I  knew  she  had  naturally  strong  pas- 
sions, and  that  young  people  of  that  age  are  apt 
to  think  those  that  pretend  to  be  their  friends  are 
really  so,  and  only  speak  their  minds  freely.  I  after- 
wards contrived  to  have  every  word  she  spoke  of  him 
carried  to  the  king,  who  took  it  all  as  I  could  wish, 
and  fancied  those  things  did  not  come  at  first  from 
the  young  lady,  but  from  her  mother.  He  would 
often  talk  of  it  to  me,  and  I  agreed  with  him  in  his 
sentiments  ;  but  then,  as  a  great  proof  of  my  good- 
ness, I  always  endeavoured  to  excuse  her,  by  saying 
a  lady  so  long  time  used  to  be  a  royal  queen  might 
naturally  be  a  little  exasperated  with  those  she  fan- 
cied would  thz'ow  her  from  that  station  she  so  justly 
deserved.  By  these  sort  of  plots  I  found  the  way  to 
make  the  king  angry  with  the  queen  ;  for  nothing  is 
easier  than  to  make  a  man  angry  with  a  woman  he 
wants  to  be  rid  of,  and  who  stands  in  the  way  be- 
tween him  and  his  pleasure  ;  so  that  now  the  king, 
on  the  pretence  of  the  queen"'s  obstinacy  in  a  point 
where  his  conscience  was  so  tenderly  concerned, 
parted  with  her.  Everything  was  now  plain  befoi-e 
me ;  I  had  nothing  farther  to  do  but  to  let  the  kinir 

[1T5] 


0 

THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

alone  to  his  own  desires  ;  and  I  had  no  reason  to 
fear,  since  they  had  carried  him  so  far,  but  that  they 
would  urge  him  on  to  do  everything  I  aimed  at.  I 
was  created  marchioness  of  Pembroke.  This  dignity 
sat  very  easy  on  me ;  for  the  thoughts  of  a  much 
higher  title  took  from  me  all  feeling  of  this ;  and  I 
looked  upon  being  a  marchioness  as  a  trifle,  not  that 
I  saw  the  bauble  in  its  true  light,  but  because  it  fell 
short  of  w  hat  I  had  figured  to  myself  I  should  soon 
obtain.  The  king's  desires  grew  very  impatient, 
and  it  was  not  long  before  I  was  privately  married 
to  him.  I  was  no  sooner  his  wife  than  I  found  all 
the  queen  come  upon  me  ;  I  felt  myself  conscious 
of  royalty,  and  even  the  faces  of  my  most  intimate 
acquaintance  seemed  to  me  to  be  quite  strange. 
I  hardly  knew  them  :  height  had  turned  my  head, 
and  I  was  like  a  man  placed  on  a  monument,  to 
whose  sight  all  creatures  at  a  great  distance  below 
him  appear  like  so  many  little  pigmies  crawling 
about  on  the  earth  ;  and  the  prospect  so  greatly  de- 
lighted me,  that  I  did  not  presently  consider  that  in 
both  cases  descending  a  few  steps  erected  by  human 
hands  would  place  us  in  the  number  of  those  very 
pigmies  who  appeared  so  despicable.  Our  marriage 
was  kept  private  for  some  time,  for  it  was  not  thought 
proper  to  make  it  {)ublic  (the  affair  of  the  divorce  not 
being  finished)  till  the  birth  of  my  daughter  Eliza- 
beth made  it  necessary.  But  all  who  saw  me  knew 
it ;  for  my  maimer  of  speaking  and  acting  was  so 
much  changed  with  my  station,  that  all  around  me 
plainly  perceived  I  was  sure  I  was  a  queen.  While 
it  was  a  secret  I  had  yet  something  to  wish  for ;  I 

[  ne  ] 


AN    UNHAPPY    QUEEN 

could  not  be  perfectly  satisfied  till  all  the  world  was 
acquainted  with  my  fortune:  but  when  my  corona- 
tion was  over,  and  I  was  raised  to  the  height  of  my 
ambition,  instead  of  finding  myself  happy,  I  was  in 
reality  more  miserable  than  ever ;  for,  besides  that 
the  aversion  I  had  naturally  to  the  king  was  much 
more  difficult  to  dissemble  after  marriage  than  be- 
fore, and  grew  into  a  perfect  detestation,  my  imagi- 
nation, which  had  thus  warmly  pursued  a  crown, 
grew  cool  when  I  was  in  the  possession  of  it,  and 
gave  me  time  to  reflect  what  mighty  matter  I  had 
gained  by  all  this  bustle  ;  and  I  often  used  to  think 
myself  in  the  case  of  the  fox-hunter,  who,  when  he 
has  toiled  and  sweated  all  day  in  the  chase  as  if  some 
unheard-of  blessing  was  to  crown  his  success,  finds  at 
last  all  he  has  got  by  his  labour  is  a  stinking  nau- 
seous animal.  But  my  condition  was  yet  worse  than 
his ;  for  he  leaves  the  loathsome  wretch  to  be  torn  by 
his  hounds,  whilst  I  was  obliged  to  fondle  mine,  and 
meanly  pretend  him  to  be  the  object  of  my  love. 
For  the  whole  time  I  was  in  this  envied,  this  exalted 
state,  I  led  a  continual  life  of  hypocrisy,  which  I  now 
know  nothing  on  earth  can  compensate.  I  had  no 
companion  but  the  man  I  hated.  I  dared  not  dis- 
close my  sentiments  to  any  person  about  me,  nor  did 
any  one  presume  to  enter  into  any  freedom  of  con- 
versation with  me  ;  but  all  who  spoke  to  me  talked 
to  the  queen,  and  not  to  me ;  for  they  would  have 
said  just  the  same  things  to  a  drcssed-up  puppet,  if 
the  king  had  taken  a  fancy  to  call  it  his  wife.  And 
as  I  knew  every  woman  in  the  court  was  my  enemy, 
from  thinking  she  had  much  more  right  than  I  had 


VOL.   I. 


12  [177] 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

to  the  place  I  filled,  I  thought  myself  as  unhappy  as 
if  I  liad  been  placed  in  a  wild  wood,  where  there  was 
no  human  creature  for  me  to  speak  to,  in  a  contin- 
ual fear  of  leaving  any  traces  of  my  footsteps,  lest  I 
should  be  found  by  some  dreadful  monster,  or  stung 
by  snakes  and  addei-s  ;  for  such  are  spiteful  women  to 
the  objects  of  their  envy.     In  this  worst  of  all  situa- 
tions I  was  obliged  to  hide  my  melancholy  and  ap- 
pear chearful.     This  threw  me  into  an  error  the  other 
way,  and  I  sometimes  fell  into  a  levity  in  my  be- 
haviour that  was  afterwards  made  use  of  to  my  disad- 
vantage.    I  had  a  son  dead-born,  which  I  perceived 
abated  something  of  the  king's  ardour  ;  for  his  temper 
could  not  brook  the  least  disappointment.     This  gave 
me  no  uneasiness ;   for,  not   considering  the   conse- 
quences, I  could  not  help  being  best  pleased  when  I  had 
least  of  his  company.    Afterwards  I  found  he  had  cast 
his  eyes  on  one  of  my  maids  of  honour ;  and,  whether 
it  was  owing  to  any  art  of  hers,  or  only  to  the  king'^s 
violent  passions,  I  was  in  the  end  used  even  worse 
than  my  former  mistress  had  been  by  my  means.    The 
decay  of  the  king's  affection  was  presently  seen  by  all 
those  court-sycophants  who  continually  watch  the  mo- 
tions of  royal  eyes  ;  and  the  moment  they  found  they 
could  be  heard  against  me  they  turned  my  most  in- 
nocent actions  and  words,  nay,  even  my  very  looks, 
into  proofs  of  the  blackest  crimes.     The  king,  who 
was  impatient  to  enjoy  his  new  love,  lent  a  willing 
ear  to  all  my  accusers,  who  found  ways  of  making 
him  jealous  that  I  was  false  to  his  bed.     He  would 
not  so  easily  have  believed  anything  against  me  be- 
fore, but  he  was  now  glad  to  flatter  himself  that  he 


SENTENCED    TO    DEATH 

had  found  a  reason  to  do  just  what  he  had  resolved 
upon  without  a  reason  ;  and  on  some  slight  pretences 
and  hearsay  evidence  I  was  sent  to  the  Tower,  where 
the  lady  who  was  my  greatest  enemy  was  appointed  to 
watch  me  and  lie  in  the  same  chamber  with  me.  This 
was  really  as  bad  a  punishment  as  my  death,  for  she  in- 
sulted me  with  those  keen  reproaches  and  spiteful  wit- 
ticisms, M'hich  threw  me  into  such  vapours  and  violent 
fits  that  I  knew  not  what  I  uttered  in  this  condition. 
She  pretended  I  had  confessed  talking  ridiculous  stuff 
with  n  set  of  low  fellows  whom  I  had  hardly  ever  taken 
notice  of,  as  could  have  imposed  on  none  but  such  as 
were  resolved  to  believe.  I  was  brought  to  my  trial, 
and,  to  blacken  me  the  more,  accused  of  conversing 
criminally  with  my  own  brother,  whom  indeed  I 
loved  extremely  well,  but  never  looked  on  him  in  any 
other  light  than  as  my  friend.  However,  I  was 
condemned  to  be  beheaded,  or  burnt,  as  the  king 
pleased ;  and  he  was  graciously  pleased,  from  the 
great  remains  of  his  love,  to  chuse  the  mildest  sen- 
tence. I  was  much  less  shocked  at  this  manner  of 
ending  my  life  than  I  sliould  have  been  in  any  other 
station  :  but  I  had  had  so  little  enjoyment  from  the 
time  I  had  been  a  queen,  that  death  was  the  less 
dreadful  to  me.  The  chief  things  that  lay  on  my 
conscience  were  the  arts  I  made  use  of  to  induce  the 
king  to  part  with  the  queen,  my  ill  usage  of  lady 
Mary,  and  my  jilting  lord  Percy.  However,  I  en- 
deavoured to  calm  my  mind  as  well  as  I  could,  and 
hoped  these  crimes  would  be  forgiven  me  ;  for  in 
other  respects  I  had  led  a  very  innocent  life,  and  al- 
ways did  all  the  good-natured  actions  I  found  any 

[  1^9  J 


THIS    WORLD    TO    THE    NEXT 

opportunity  of  doing.  From  the  time  I  had  it  in 
my  power,  I  gave  a  great  deal  of  money  amongst  the 
poor ;  I  prayed  very  devoutly,  and  went  to  my  exe- 
cution very  composedly.  Thus  I  lost  my  life  at  the 
age  of  twenty-nine,  in  which  short  time  I  believe  I 
went  through  more  variety  of  scenes  than  many  people 
who  live  to  be  very  old.  I  had  lived  in  a  court, 
where  I  spent  my  time  in  coquetry  and  gaiety ;  I  had 
experienced  what  it  was  to  have  one  of  those  violent 
passions  which  makes  the  mind  all  turbulence  and 
anxiety  ;  I  had  had  a  lover  whom  I  esteemed  and 
valued,  and  at  the  latter  part  of  my  life  I  was  raised 
to  a  station  as  high  as  the  vainest  woman  could  wish. 
But  in  all  these  various  changes  I  never  enjoyed  any 
real  satisfaction,  unless  in  the  little  time  I  lived  re- 
tired in  the  country  free  from  all  noise  and  hurry, 
and  while  I  was  conscious  I  was  the  object  of  the 
love  and  esteem  of  a  man  of  sense  and  honour." 

On  the  conclusion  of  this  history  Minos  paused  for 
a  small  time,  and  then  ordered  the  gate  to  be  thrown 
open  for  Anna  Boleyn\s  admittance  on  the  consider- 
ation that  whoever  had  suffered  being  the  queen  for 
four  years,  and  been  sensible  during  all  that  time  of  the 
real  misery  which  attends  that  exalted  station,  ought 
to  be  forgiven  whatever  she  had  done  to  obtain  it.^ 

1  Here  ends  this  curious  manuscript ;  the  rest  being  de- 
stroyed in  rolling  up  pens,  tobax-co,  &c.  It  is  to  be  hoped 
heedless  people  will  henceforth  be  more  cautious  what  they 
burn,  or  use  to  other  vile  purposes  ;  especially  when  they  con- 
sider the  fate  which  had  likely  to  have  befallen  the  divine 
Milton,  and  that  the  works  of  Homer  were  probably  discovered 
in  some  chandler's  shop  in  Greece. 

L  180  J 


THE   JOURNAL   OF   A   VOYAGE 
TO   LISBON 


THE  JOURNAL  OF  A 
VOYAGE   TO    LISBON 

DEDICATION   TO   THE   PUBLIC 

YOUR  candour  is  desired  on  the  perusal 
of  the  following  sheets,  as  they  are  the 
product  of  a  genius  that  has  long  been 
your  delight  and  entertainment.  It 
must  be  acknowledged  that  a  lamp  almost  burnt 
out  does  not  give  so  steady  and  uniform  a  light  as 
when  it  blazes  in  its  full  vigour  ;  but  yet  it  is  well 
known  that  by  its  wavering,  as  if  struggling  against 
its  own  dissolution,  it  sometimes  darts  a  ray  as 
bright  as  ever.  In  like  manner,  a  strong  and  lively 
genius  will,  in  its  last  struggles,  sometimes  mount 
aloft,  and  throw  forth  the  most  striking  marks  of 
its  original  lustre. 

Wherever  these  are  to  be  found,  do  you,  the 
genuine  patrons  of  extraordinary  capacities,  be  as 
liberal  in  your  applauses  of  him  who  is  now  no 
more  as  you  were  of  him  whilst  he  was  yet  amongst 
you.  And,  on  the  other  hand,  if  in  this  little  work 
there  should  appear  any  traces  of  a  weakened  and 
decayed  life,  let  your  own  imaginations  place  before 
your  eyes  a  true  picture  in  that  of  a  hand  trembling 
in  almost  its  latest  hour,  of  a  body  emaciated  with 

[183] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

pains,  yet  struggling  for  your  entertainment ;  and 
let  this  affecting  picture  open  each  tender  heart,  and 
call  forth  a  melting  tear,  to  blot  out  whatever  fail- 
ings may  be  found  in  a  work  Ijegun  in  pain,  and 
finished  almost  at  the  same  period   with  life. 

It  was  thought  proper  by  the  friends  of  the  de- 
ceased that  this  little  piece  should  come  into  your 
hands  as  it  came  from  the  hands  of  the  author,  it 
being  judged  that  you  would  be  better  pleased  to 
have  an  opportunity  of  observing  the  faintest  traces 
of  a  genius  you  have  long  admired,  than  have  it 
patched  by  a  different  hand,  by  which  means  the 
marks  of  its  true  author  might  have  been  effaced. 

That  the  success  of  the  last  written,  though  first 
published,  volume  of  the  author's  posthumous  pieces 
may  be  attended  with  some  convenience  to  those 
innocents  he  hath  left  behind,  will  no  doubt  be  a 
motive  to  encourage  its  circulation  through  the  king- 
dom, which  will  engage  every  future  genius  to  exert 
itself  for  your  pleasure. 

The  principles  and  spirit  which  breathe  in  every 
line  of  the  small  fragment  begun  in  answer  to  Lord 
Bolingbroke  will  unquestionably  be  a  sufficient 
apology  for  its  publication,  although  vital  strength 
was  wanting  to  finish  a  work  so  happily  begun  and 
so  well  designed. 


[  184] 


PREFACE 

J  HERE  would  not,  perhaps,  be  a  more 
pleasant  or  profitable  study,  among  those 
which  have  their  principal  end  in  amuse- 
ment, than  that  of  travels  or  voyages,  if 
were  writ,  as  they  might  be  and  ought  to  be, 
with  a  joint  view  to  the  entertainment  and  informa- 
tion of  mankind.  If  the  conversation  of  travellers 
be  so  eagerly  sought  after  as  it  is,  we  may  believe 
their  books  will  be  still  more  agreeable  company,  as 
they  will  in  general  be  more  instructive  and  more 
entertaining. 

But  when  I  say  the  conversation  of  travellers  is 
usually  so  welcome,  I  must  be  understood  to  mean 
that  only  of  such  as  have  had  good  sense  enough  to 
apply  their  peregrinations  to  a  proper  use,  so  as  to 
acquire  from  them  a  real  and  valuable  knowledge  of 
njen  and  things,  both  which  are  best  known  by  com- 
parison. If  the  customs  and  manners  of  men  were 
everywhere  the  same,  tlieie  would  be  no  office  so 
dull  as  that  of  a  traveller,  for  the  difference  of  hills, 
valleys,  rivers,  in  short,  the  various  views  of  whicli 
we  may  see  the  face  of  the  earth,  would  scarce  afford 
him  a  pleasure  wortliy  of  his  labour;  and  surely  it 
would  give  him  very  little  opportunity  of  communi- 
cating any  kind  of  entertainment  or  improvement  to 
others. 

[185] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

To  make  a  traveller  an  agreeable  companion  to  a 
man  of  sense,  it  is  necessary,  not  only  that  he  should 
have  seen  much,  but  that  he  should  have  overlooked 
much  of  what  he  hath  seen.  Nature  is  not,  any  more 
than  a  great  genius,  always  admirable  in  her  produc- 
tions, and  therefore  the  traveller,  who  may  be  called 
her  commentator,  should  not  expect  to  find  every- 
where subjects  worthy  of  his  notice. 

It  is  certain,  indeed,  that  one  may  be  guilty  of 
omission,  as  well  as  of  the  opposite  extreme ;  but  a 
fault  on  that  side  will  be  more  easily  pardoned,  as  it 
is  better  to  be  hungry  than  surfeited ;  and  to  miss 
your  dessert  at  the  table  of  a  man  whose  gardens 
abound  with  the  choicest  fruits,  than  to  have  your 
taste  affronted  with  every  sort  of  trash  that  can  be 
picked  up  at  the  green-stall  or  the  wheelbarrow. 

If  we  should  carry  on  the  analogy  between  the 
traveller  and  the  commentator,  it  is  impossible  to 
keep  one''s  eye  a  moment  off  from  the  laborious 
much-read  doctor  Zachary  Gray,  of  whose  redun- 
dant notes  on  Hudibras  I  shall  only  say  that  it  is, 
I  am  confident,  the  single  book  extant  in  which 
above  five  hundred  authors  are  quoted,  not  one  of 
which  could  be  found  in  the  collection  of  the  late 
doctor  Mead. 

As  there  are  few  things  which  a  traveller  is  to 
record,  there  are  fewer  on  which  he  is  to  offer  his 
observations  :  this  is  the  office  of  the  reader ;  and  it 
is  so  pleasant  a  one,  that  he  seldom  chuses  to  have 
it  taken  from  him,  under  the  pretence  of  lending  him 
assistance.  Some  occasions,  indeed,  there  are,  when 
proper  observations  are  pei'tinent,  and  others  when 

[186] 


PREFACE 

they  are  necessary ;  but  good  sense  alone  must  point 
them  out.  I  shall  lay  down  only  one  general  rule ; 
which  I  believe  to  be  of  universal  truth  between  re- 
lator and  hearer,  as  it  is  between  author  and  reader ; 
this  is,  that  the  latter  never  forgive  any  observation 
of  the  former  which  doth  not  convey  some  knowledge 
that  they  are  sensible  they  could  not  possibly  have 
attained  of  themselves. 

But  all  his  pains  in  collecting  knowledge,  all  his 
judgment  in  selecting,  and  all  his  art  in  communi- 
cating it,  will  not  suffice,  unless  he  can  make  himself, 
in  some  degree,  an  agreeable  as  well  as  an  instructive 
companion.  The  highest  instruction  we  can  derive 
from  the  tedious  tale  of  a  dull  fellow  scarce  ever  pays 
us  for  our  attention.  There  is  nothing,  I  think,  half 
so  valuable  as  knowledge,  and  yet  there  is  nothing 
which  men  will  give  themselves  so  little  trouble  to 
attain  ;  unless  it  be,  perhaps,  that  lowest  degree  of 
it  which  is  the  object  of  curiosity,  and  which  hath 
therefore  that  active  passion  constantly  employed  in 
its  service.  This,  indeed,  it  is  in  the  power  of  every 
traveller  to  gratify  ;  but  it  is  the  leading  principle 
in  weak  minds  only. 

To  render  his  relation  agreeable  to  the  man  of 
sense,  it  is  therefore  necessary  that  the  voyager  should 
possess  several  eminent  and  rare  talents  ;  so  rare  in- 
deed, that  it  is  almost  wonderful  to  see  them  ever 
united  in  the  same  person. 

And  if  all  these  talents  must  concur  in  the  re- 
lator, they  are  certainly  in  a  more  eminent  degree 
necessary  to  the  writer ;  for  here  the  naiTation  admits 
of  higher  ornaments  of  stile,  and  every  fact  and  senti- 

[187  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

merit  offers  itself  to  the  fullest  and  most  deliberate 
examination. 

It  would  appear,  therefore,  I  think,  somewhat 
strange  if  such  writers  as  these  should  be  found  ex- 
tremely common  ;  since  nature  hath  been  a  most 
parsimonious  distributor  of  her  richest  talents,  and 
hath  seldom  bestowed  many  on  the  same  person. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  why  there  should  scarce  exist 
a  single  writer  of  this  kind  worthy  our  regard  ;  and, 
whilst  there  is  no  other  branch  of  history  (for  this  is 
history)  which  hath  not  exercised  the  greatest  pens, 
why  this  alone  should  be  overlooked  by  all  men  of 
great  genius  and  erudition,  and  delivered  up  to  the 
Goths  and  Vandals  as  their  lawful  property,  is  alto- 
gether as  difficult  to  determine. 

And  yet  that  this  is  the  case,  with  some  very  few 
exceptions,  is  most  manifest.  Of  these  I  shall  will- 
ingly admit  Burnet  and  Addison  ;  if  the  former  was 
not,  perhaps,  to  be  considered  as  a  political  essayist, 
and  the  latter  as  a  commentator  on  the  classics,  rather 
than  as  a  writer  of  travels ;  which  last  title,  perhaps, 
they  would  both  of  them  have  been  least  ambitious 
to  affect. 

Indeed,  if  these  two  and  two  or  three  more  should 
be  removed  fiom  the  mass,  there  would  remain  such 
a  heap  of  dulness  behind,  that  the  appellation  of 
voyage-writer  would  not  appear  very  desirable. 

I  am  not  here  unapprized  that  old  Homer  himself 
is  by  some  considered  as  a  vovage-writer  ;  and,  in- 
deed, the  beginning  of  his  Odyssey  may  be  urged  to 
countenance  that  opinion,  which  I  shall  not  contro- 
vert.    But,  whatever  species  of  writing  the  Odyssey 

[188] 


PREFACE 

is  of,  it  is  surely  at  the  head  of  that  species,  as  much 
as  the  IHad  is  of  another  ;  and  so  far  the  excellent 
Longinus  would  allow,  I  believe,  at  this  day. 

But,  in  reality,  the  Odyssey,  the  Telemachus,  and 
all  of  that  kind,  are  to  the  voyage- writing  I  here 
intend,  what  romance  is  to  true  history,  the  former 
being  the  confounder  and  corrupter  of  the  latter.  I 
am  far  from  supposing  that  Homer,  Hesiod,  and  the 
other  antient  poets  and  mythologists,  had  any  settled 
dcoign  to  pervert  and  confuse  the  records  of  antiquity  ; 
but  it  is  certain  they  have  effected  it ;  and  for  my  part 
I  must  confess  I  should  have  honoured  and  loved 
Homer  more  had  he  written  a  true  history  of  his  own 
times  in  liumble  prose,  than  those  noble  poems  that 
have  so  justly  collected  the  praise  of  all  ages  ;  for, 
though  I  read  these  with  more  admiration  and  as- 
tonishment, I  still  read  Herodotus,  Thucydides,  and 
Xenophon  with  more  amusement  and  more  satis- 
faction. 

The  original  poets  were  not,  however,  without  ex- 
cuse. They  found  the  limits  of  nature  too  strait  for 
the  immensity  of  their  genius,  which  they  had  not 
room  to  exert  without  extending  fact  by  fiction  : 
and  that  especially  at  a  time  when  the  manners  of 
men  were  too  simple  to  afford  that  variety  which 
they  have  since  offered  in  vain  to  the  choice  of  the 
meanest  writers.  In  doing  this  they  are  again  ex- 
cusable for  the  inanner  in  which  they  have  done  it. 

Ut  speciosa  dehinc  miracula  promant- 

They  are  not,  indeed,  so  properly  said  to  turn  reality 
into  fiction,  as   fiction   into   reality.       Their  paint- 

[189] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ings  are  so  bold,  their  colours  so  strong,  that  every- 
thing they  touch  seems  to  exist  in  the  very  manner 
they  represent  it ;  their  portraits  are  so  just,  and 
their  landscapes  so  beautiful,  that  we  acknowledge 
the  strokes  of  nature  in  both,  without  enquiring 
whether  Nature  herself,  or  her  journeyman  the  poet, 
formed  the  first  pattern  of  the  piece. 

But  other  writers  (I  will  put  Pliny  at  their  head) 
have  no  such  pretensions  to  indulgence  ;  they  lye  for 
lying  sake,  or  in  order  insolently  to  impose  the  most 
monstrous  improbabilities  and  absurdities  upon  their 
readers  on  their  own  authority ;  treating  them  as 
some  fathers  treat  children,  and  as  other  fathers  do 
laymen,  exacting  their  belief  of  whatever  they  relate, 
on  no  other  foundation  than  their  own  authority, 
without  ever  taking  the  pains  of  adapting  their  lies 
to  human  credulity,  and  of  calculating  them  for  the 
meridian  of  a  common  understanding ;  but,  with  as 
much  weakness  as  wickedness,  and  with  more  impu- 
dence often  than  either,  they  assert  facts  contrary  to 
the  honour  of  God,  to  the  visible  order  of  the  crea- 
tion, to  the  known  laws  of  nature,  to  the  histories  of 
former  ages,  and  to  the  experience  of  our  own,  and 
which  no  man  can  at  once  understand  and  believe. 

If  it  should  be  objected  (and  it  can  nowhere  be 
objected  better  than  where  I  now  write,^  as  there  is 
nowhere  more  pomp  of  bigotry)  that  whole  nations 
have  been  firm  believers  in  such  most  absurd  sup- 
positions, I  reply,  the  fact  is  not  true.  They  have 
known  nothing  of  the  matter,  and  have  believed 
they   knew  not    what.     It  is,  indeed,   with   me  no 

1  At  Lisbon. 

[190  J 


PREFACE 

matter  of  doubt  but  that  the  pope  and  his  clergy 
might  teach  any  of  those  christian  heterodoxies,  the 
tenets  of  which  are  the  most  diametrically  opposite 
to  their  own ;  nay,  all  the  doctrines  of  Zoroaster, 
Confucius,  and  Mahomet,  not  only  with  certain  and 
immediate  success,  but  without  one  Catholick  in  a 
thousand  knowing  he  had  changed  his  religion. 

What  motive  a  man  can  have  to  sit  down,  and  to 
draw  forth  a  list  of  stupid,  senseless,  incredible  lies 
upon  paper,  would  be  difficult  to  determine,  did  not 
Vanity  present  herself  so  innnediately  as  the  ade- 
quate cause.       The    vanity   of  knowing   more  than 
other  men  is,  perhaps,  besides  hunger,  the  only  in- 
ducement to  writing,  at  least  to  publishing,  at  all. 
Why  then  should  not  the  voyage-writer  be  inflamed 
with  the  glory  of  having  seen  what  no  man  ever  did 
or  will  see  but  himself?     This  is  the  true  source  of 
the   wonderful   in   the   discourse  and   writings,   and 
sometimes,  I  believe,  in  the  actions  of  men.     There 
is  another  fault,  of  a  kind  directly  opposite  to  this, 
to  which  these  writers  are  sometimes  liable,  when, 
instead   of  filling  their   pages  with  monsters  which 
nobody  hath  ever  seen,  and  with  adventures  which 
never  have,   nor  could  possibly  have,   happened  to 
them,  waste  their  time  and  paper   with   recording 
things  and  facts   of  so  common  a  kind,  that  they 
challenge  no  other  right  of  being  remembered  than 
as  they  had  the  honour  of  liaving  happened  to  the 
author,  to  whom  nothing  seems  trivial  that  in  any 
manner  happens  to   himself     Of  such  consequence 
do  his  own  actions  appear  to  one  of  this  kind,  that 
he  would  probably  think  himself  guiltv  of  infidelity 

_   [  191  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBOxN 

should  he  omit  the  minutest  thing  in  the  detail  of 
his  journal.  That  the  fact  is  true  is  sufficient  to 
give  it  a  place  there,  without  any  consideration 
whether  it  is  capable  of  pleasing  or  surprising,  of 
diverting  or  informing,  the  reader. 

I  have  seen  a  play  (if  I  mistake  not  it  is  one  of 
Mrs.  Behn's  or  of  Mrs.  Centlivre"'s)  where  this  vice 
in  a  voyage-writer  is  finely  ridiculed.  An  ignorant 
pedant,  to  whose  government,  for  I  know  not  what 
i-eason,  the  conduct  of  a  young  nobleman  in  his 
travels  is  committed,  and  who  is  sent  abroad  to 
shew  my  loi'd  the  world,  of  which  he  knows  nothing 
himself,  before  his  departure  from  a  town,  calls  for 
his  journal  to  record  the  goodness  of  the  wine  and 
tobacco,  with  other  articles  of  the  same  importance, 
which  are  to  furnish  the  materials  of  a  voyage  at  his 
return  home.  The  humour,  it  is  true,  is  here  carried 
very  far;  and  yet,  perhaps,  very  little  beyond  what 
is  to  be  found  in  writers  who  profess  no  intention  of 
dealing  in  humour  at  all. 

Of  one  or  other,  or  both  of  these  kinds,  are,  I  con- 
ceive, all  that  vast  pile  of  books  which  pass  under 
the  names  of  voyages,  travels,  adventures,  lives,  me- 
moirs, histories,  &c.,  some  of  which  a  single  traveller 
sends  into  the  world  in  many  volumes,  and  othere 
are,  by  judicious  booksellers,  collected  into  vast 
bodies  in  folio,  and  inscribed  with  their  own  names, 
as  if  they  were  indeed  their  own  travels :  thus  un- 
justly attributing  to  themselves  the  merit  of  others. 

Now,  from  both  these  faults  we  have  endeavoured 
to  steer  clear  in  the  following  narrative;  which, 
however  the  contrary  may  be  insinuated   by  igno- 

[192] 


PREFACE 

rant,  unlearned,  and  fresh-water  critics,  who  have 
never  travelled  either  in  books  or  ships,  I  do  sol- 
emnly declare  doth,  in  my  own  impartial  opinion, 
deviate  less  from  truth  than  any  other  voyage 
extant ;  my  lord  Anson's  alone  being,  perhaps, 
excepted. 

Some  few  embellishments  must  be  allowed  to 
every  historian ;  for  we  are  not  to  conceive  that 
the  speeches  in  Livy,  Sallust,  or  Thucydides,  were 
literally  spoken  in  the  very  words  in  which  we  now 
read  them.  It  is  sufficient  that  every  fact  hatli  its 
foundation  in  truth,  as  I  do  seriously  aver  is  the 
case  in  the  ensuing  pages ;  and  when  it  is  so,  a  good 
critic  will  be  so  far  from  denying  all  kind  of  orna- 
ment of  stile  or  diction,  or  even  of  circumstance, 
to  his  author,  that  he  would  be  rather  sorry  if  he 
omitted  it ;  for  he  could  hence  derive  no  other  advan- 
tage than  the  loss  of  an  additional  pleasure  in  the 
perusal. 

Again,  if  any  merely  common  incident  should  ap- 
pear in  this  joui'nal,  which  will  seldom  I  apprehend 
be  the  case,  the  candid  reader  will  easily  perceive  it 
is  not  introduced  for  its  own  sake,  but  for  some  ob- 
servations and  reflexions  naturally  resulting  from  it ; 
and  which,  if  but  little  to  his  amusement,  tend  di- 
rectly to  tlie  instruction  of  the  reader  or  to  the  infor- 
mation of  the  public ;  to  whom  if  I  chuse  to  convey 
such  instruction  or  information  with  an  air  of  joke 
and  laughter,  none  but  the  dullest  of  fellows  will,  I 
believe,  censure  it;  but  if  they  should,  I  have  the 
authority  of  moie  than  one  passage  in  Horace  to 
alledge  in  my  defence. 

VOL.  I.  -13  [  193  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

Having  thus  endeavoured  to  obviate  some  cen- 
sures, to  which  a  man  without  the  gift  of  foresight, 
or  any  fear  of  tlie  imputation  of  being  a  conjurer, 
might  conceive  this  work  would  be  liable,  I  might 
now  undertake  a  more  pleasing  task,  and  fall  at 
once  to  the  direct  and  positive  praises  of  the  work  it- 
self ;  of  which,  indeed,  I  could  say  a  thousand  good 
things  ;  but  the  task  is  so  very  pleasant  that  I  shall 
leave  it  wholly  to  the  reader,  and  it  is  all  the  task 
that  I  impose  on  him.  A  moderation  for  which  he 
may  think  himself  obliged  to  me  when  he  compares 
it  with  the  conduct  of  authors,  who  often  fill  a  whole 
sheet  with  their  own  praises,  to  which  they  some- 
times set  their  own  real  names,  and  sometimes  a  fic- 
titious one.  One  hint,  however,  I  must  give  the 
kind  reader ;  which  is,  that  if  he  should  be  able  to 
find  no  sort  of  amusement  in  the  book,  he  will  be 
pleased  to  remember  the  public  utility  which  will 
arise  from  it.  If  entertainment,  as  Mr.  Richardson 
observes,  be  but  a  secondary  consideration  in  a  ro- 
mance ;  with  which  Mr.  Addison,  I  think,  agrees, 
affirming  the  use  of  the  pastry  cook  to  be  the  first ; 
if  this,  I  say,  be  true  of  a  mere  work  of  invention, 
sure  it  may  well  be  so  considered  in  a  work  founded, 
like  this,  on  truth  ;  and  where  the  political  reflexions 
form  so  distinguishing  a  part. 

But  perhaps  I  may  hear,  from  some  critic  of  the 
most  saturnine  complexion,  that  my  vanity  must 
have  made  a  horrid  dupe  of  my  judgment,  if  it 
hath  flattered  me  with  an  expectation  of  having 
anything  here  seen  in  a  grave  light,  or  of  conveying 
any  useful  instruction  to  the  public,  or  to  their  guard- 
-^     [  194  ] 


PREFACE 

ians.  I  answer,  with  the  great  man  whom  I  just  now 
quoted,  that  my  purpose  is  to  convey  instruction  in 
the  vehicle  of  entertainment  ;  and  so  to  bring  about 
at  once,  hke  the  revohition  in  the  Rehearsal,  a  per- 
fect reformation  of  the  laws  relating  to  our  mari- 
time affairs:  an  undertaking,  I  will  not  say  more 
modest,  but  surely  more  feasible,  than  that  of  re- 
forming a  whole  people,  by  making  use  of  a  vehicular 
story,  to  wheel  in  among  them  worse  manners  than 
their  own. 


[195] 


INTRODUCTION 

IN  the  beginning  of  August,  1753,  when  I  had 
taken  the  duke  of  Portland's  medicine,  as  it  is 
called,  near  a  year,  the  effects  of  which  had 
been  the  carrying  off  the  symptoms  of  a  lin- 
gering imperfect  gout,  I  was  persuaded  by  Mr.  Ranby, 
the  king's  premier  serjeant-surgeon,  and  the  ablest 
advice,  I  believe,  in  all  branches  of  the  physical  pro- 
fession, to  go  immediately  to  Bath,  I  accordingly 
writ  that  very  niglit  to  Mrs.  Bowden,  who,  by  the 
next  post,  informed  me  she  had  taken  me  a  lodging 
for  a  month  certain. 

Within  a  few  days  after  this,  whilst  I  was  prepar- 
ing for  my  journey,  and  when  I  was  almost  fatigued 
to  death  with  several  long  examinations,  relating  to 
five  different  mui-ders,  all  committed  within  the  space 
of  a  week,  by  different  gangs  of  street-robbers,  I 
received  a  message  from  his  grace  the  duke  of  New- 
castle, by  Mr.  Carrington,  the  king's  messenger,  to 
attend  his  gi'ace  the  next  morning,  in  Lincoln's-inn- 
fields,  upon  some  business  of  importance;  but  I  ex- 
cused myself  from  complying  with  the  message,  as, 
besides  being  lame,  I  was  very  ill  with  the  great 
fatigues  I  had  lately  undergone  added  to  my  dis- 
temper. 

His  grace,  however,  sent  Mr.  Carrington,  the  very 
next  morning,  with  another  summons;  with  which, 

[196] 


INTRODUCTION 

though  in  the  utmost  distress,  I  immediately  com- 
plied ;  but  the  duke,  happening,  unfortunately  for 
me,  to  be  then  particularly  engaged,  after  I  had 
waited  some  time,  sent  a  gentleman  to  discourse 
with  me  on  the  best  plan  which  could  be  invented 
for  putting  an  immediate  end  to  those  murders  and 
robberies  which  were  every  day  committed  in  the 
streets ;  upon  which  I  promised  to  transmit  my 
opinion,  in  writing,  to  his  grace,  who,  as  the  gentle- 
man informed  me,  intended  to  lay  it  before  the  privy 
council. 

Though  this  visit  cost  me  a  severe  cold,  I,  not- 
withstanding, set  myself  down  to  work ;  and  in 
about  four  days  sent  the  duke  as  regular  a  plan  as 
I  could  form,  with  all  the  reasons  and  arguments 
I  could  bring  to  support  it,  drawn  out  in  several 
sheets  of  paper ;  and  soon  received  a  message  from 
the  duke  by  Mr.  Carrington,  acquainting  me  that 
my  plan  was  highly  approved  of,  and  that  all  the 
terms  of  it  would  be  complied  with. 

The  principal  and  most  material  of  those  terms 
was  the  immediately  depositing  six  hundred  pounds 
in  my  hands  ;  at  which  small  charge  I  undertook 
to  demolish  the  then  reigning  gangs,  and  to  put  the 
civil  policy  into  such  order,  that  no  such  gangs 
should  ever  be  able,  for  the  future,  to  form  them- 
selves into  bodies,  or  at  least  to  remain  any  time 
formidable  to  the  public. 

I  had  delayed  my  Bath  journey  for  some  time, 
contrary  to  the  repeated  advice  of  my  physical  ac- 
quaintance, and  to  tlie  ardent  desire  of  my  warmest 
friends,  though  my  distemper  was  now  turned  to  a 

[  197  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

deep  jaundice ;  in  wliich  case  the  Bath  waters  are 
generally  reputed  to  be  almost  infallible.  But  I  had 
the  most  eager  desire  of  demolishing  tins  gang  of 
villains  and  cut-throats,  which  I  was  sure  of  accom- 
plishing the  moment  I  was  enabled  to  pay  a  fellow, 
who  had  undertaken,  for  a  small  sum,  to  betray 
them  into  the  hands  of  a  set  of  thief-takers  whom  I 
had  enlisted  into  the  service,  all  men  of  known 
and  approved  fidelity  and  intrepidity. 

After  some  weeks  the  money  was  paid  at  the  treas- 
ury, and  within  a  few  days  after  two  hundred  pounds 
of  it  had  come  to  my  hands,  the  whole  gang  of  cut- 
throats was  entirely  dispersed,  seven  of  them  were  in 
actual  custody,  and  the  rest  driven,  some  out  of  the 
town,  and  others  out  of  the  kingdom. 

Though  my  health  was  now  reduced  to  the  last 
extremity,  I  continued  to  act  with  the  utmost  vigour 
against  these  villains  ;  in  examining  whom,  and  in 
taking  the  depositions  against  them,  I  have  often 
spent  whole  days,  nay,  sometimes  whole  nights,  es- 
pecially when  there  was  any  difficulty  in  procuring 
sufficient  evidence  to  convict  them  ;  which  is  a  very 
connnon  case  in  street-robberies,  even  when  the  guilt 
of  the  party  is  sufficiently  apparent  to  satisfy  the 
most  tender  conscience.  But  courts  of  justice  know 
nothing  of  a  cause  more  than  what  is  told  them  on 
oath  by  a  witness ;  and  the  most  flagitious  villain 
upon  earth  is  tried  in  the  same  manner  as  a  man  of 
the  best  character  who  is  accused  of  the  same  crime. 

Meanwhile,  amidst  all  my  fatigues  and  distresses, 
I  had  the  satisfaction  to  find  my  endeavours  had 
Jbe6n   attended   with  such   success  that  this   hellish 

.     L198J 


INTRODUCTION 

society  were  almost  utterly  extirpated,  and  that, 
instead  of  reading  of  murders  and  street-robberies 
in  the  news  almost  every  morning,  there  was,  in  the 
remaining  part  of  the  month  of  November,  and  in 
all  December,  not  only  no  such  thing  as  a  murder, 
but  not  even  a  street-robbery  connnitted.  Some  such, 
indeed,  were  mentioned  in  the  public  papers ;  but 
they  were  all  found,  on  the  strictest  enquiry,  to  be 
false. 

In  this  entire  freedom  from  street-robberies,  dur- 
ing the  dark  months,  no  man  will,  I  believe,  scruple 
to  acknowledge  that  the  winter  of  1753  stands  unri- 
valed, during  a  course  of  many  years  ;  and  this  may 
possibly  appear  the  more  extraordinary  to  those  who 
recollect  the  outrages  with  which  it  began. 

Having  thus  fully  accomplished  my  undertaking, 
I  went  into  the  country,  in  a  very  weak  and  deplor- 
able condition,  with  no  fewer  or  less  diseases  than  a 
jaundice,  a  dropsy,  and  an  asthma,  altogether  unit- 
ing their  forces  in  the  destruction  of  a  body  so  en- 
tirely emaciated  that  it  had  lost  all  its  muscular 
flesh. 

Mine  was  now  no  longer  what  was  called  a  Bath 
case  ;  nor,  if  it  had  been  so,  had  I  strength  remain- 
ing sufficient  to  go  thither,  a  ride  of  six  miles  only 
being  attended  with  an  intolerable  fatigue.  I  now 
discliarged  my  lodgings  at  Bath,  which  I  had  hith- 
erto kept.  I  began  in  earnest  to  look  on  my  case  as 
desperate,  and  I  had  vanity  enougli  to  rank  myself 
with  those  lieroes  who,  of  old  times,  became  volun- 
tary sacrifices  to  the  good  of  the  public. 

But,  lest  the  reader  should  be  too  eager  to  catch 

[199] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

at  the  word  vanity^  and  should  be  un\\  illii)g  to  in- 
dulge me  with  so  sublime  a  gratification,  for  I  think 
he  is  not  too  apt  to  gratify  n)e,  I  will  take  my  key 
a  pitch  lower,  and  will  frankly  own  that  I  had  a 
stronger  motive  than  the  love  of  the  public  to  push 
me  on :  I  will  therefore  confess  to  him  that  my  pri- 
vate affairs  at  the  beginning  of  the  winter  had  but  a 
gloomy  aspect ;  for  I  had  not  plundered  the  public 
or  the  poor  of  those  sums  which  men,  who  are  al- 
ways ready  to  plunder  both  as  much  as  they  can, 
have  been  pleased  to  suspect  me  of  taking  :  on  the 
contrary,  by  composing,  instead  of  inflaming,  the 
quarrels  of  porters  and  beggars  (which  I  blush  when 
I  say  hath  not  been  universally  practised),  and  by 
refusing  to  take  a  shilling  from  a  man  who  most  un- 
doubtedly woidd  not  have  had  another  left,  I  had  re- 
duced an  income  of  about  five  hundred  pounds  ^  a-year 

1  A  predecessor  of  mine  used  to  boast  that  he  made  one 
thousand  pounds  a-year  in  his  office  ;  but  how  he  did  this  (if 
indeed  he  did  it)  is  to  me  a  secret.  His  clerk,  now  mine,  told 
me  I  had  more  business  than  he  had  ever  known  there  ;  I  am 
sure  I  had  as  much  as  any  man  could  do.  The  truth  is,  the 
fees  are  so  very  low,  when  any  are  due,  and  so  much  is  done 
for  nothing,  that,  if  a  single  justice  of  peace  had  business 
enough  to  employ  twenty  clerks,  neither  he  nor  they  would  get 
much  by  their  labour.  The  public  will  not,  therefore,  I  hope, 
think  I  betray  a  secret  when  I  inform  them  that  I  received  from 
the  Government  a  yearly  pension  out  of  the  public  service- 
money  ;  which,  I  believe,  indeed,  would  have  been  larger  had 
my  great  patron  been  convinced  of  an  error,  which  I  have 
heard  him  utter  more  than  once,  that  he  could  not  indeed  say 
that  the  acting  as  a  principal  justice  of  peace  in  Westminster 
was  on  all  accounts  very  desirable,  but  that  all  the  world  knew 
it  was  a  very  lucrative  office.  Now,  to  have  shewn  him  plainly 
that  a  man  must  be  a  rogue  to  make  a  very  little  this  way,  and 

[200] 


INTRODUCTION 

of  the  dirtiest  money  upon  earth  to  little  more  than 
three  hundred  pounds  ;  a  considerable  proportion  of 
which  remained  with  my  clerk  ;  and,  indeed,  if  the 
whole  had  done  so,  as  it  ought,  he  would  be  but  ill 
paid  for  sitting  almost  sixteen  hours  in  the  twenty-four 
in  the  most  unwholesome,  as  well  as  nauseous  air  in 
the  universe,  and  which  hath  in  his  case  corrupted  a 
good  constitution  without  contaminating  his  morals. 
But,  not  to  trouble  the  reader  with  anecdotes, 
contrary  to  my  own  rule  laid  down  in  my  preface,  I 
assure  him  I  thought  my  family  was  very  slenderly 
provided  for  ;  and  that  my  health  began  to  decline 
so  fast  that  I  had  very  little  more  of  life  left  to  ac- 
complish what  I  had  thought  of  too  late.  I  re- 
joiced therefore  greatly  in  seeing  an  opportunity,  as 
I  apprehended,  of  gaining  such  merit  in  the  eye  of 
the  public,  that,  if  my  life  were  the  sacrifice  to  it,  my 
friends  might  think  they  did  a  popular  act  in  putting 
my  family  at  least  beyond  the  reach  of  necessity,  which 
I  myself  began  to  despair  of  doing.  And  though  I 
disclaim  all  pretence  to  that  Spartan  or  Roman 
patriotism  which  loved  the  public  so  well  that  it  was 
always  ready  to  become  a  voluntary  sacrifice  to  the 
public  good,  I  do  solemnly  declare  I  have  that  love 
for  my  family. 

that  he  could  not  make  much  by  beinj?  as  p^reat  a  rogue  as  he 
could  be,  would  have  required  more  confidence  than,  I  believe, 
he  had  in  me,  and  more  of  his  conversation  than  he  chose  to 
allow  me  ;  I  therefore  resigned  the  office  and  the  farther  execu- 
tion of  my  plan  to  my  brother,  who  had  long  been  my  assistant. 
And  now,  lest  the  case  between  me  and  the  reader  should  be 
the  same  in  both  instances  as  it  was  between  me  and  the  great 
man,  I  will  not  add  another  word  on  the  subject. 

[201] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

After  this  confession  therefore,  that  the  public 
was  not  the  principal  deity  to  which  my  life  was 
offered  a  saci-ificc,  and  when  it  is  farther  considered 
what  a  poor  sacrifice  this  was,  being  indeed  no  other 
than  the  giving  up  what  I  saw  little  likelihood  of 
being  able  to  hold  nuich  longer,  and  which,  upon 
the  terms  I  held  it,  nothing  but  the  weakness  of 
human  nature  could  represent  to  me  as  worth  hold- 
ing at  all  ;  the  world  may,  I  believe,  without  envy, 
allow  me  all  the  praise  to  which  I  have  any  title. 

My  aim,  in  fact,  was  not  praise,  which  is  the  last 
gift  tliey  care  to  bestow  ;  at  least,  this  was  not  my 
aim  as  an  end,  but  rather  as  a  means  of  purchasing 
some  moderate  provision  for  my  family,  which, 
though  it  should  exceed  my  merit,  must  fall  infi- 
nitely short  of  my  service,  if  I  succeeded  in  my 
attempt. 

To  say  the  truth,  the  public  never  act  more  wisely 
than  when  they  act  most  liberally  in  the  distribution 
of  their  rewards  :  and  here  the  good  they  receive  is 
often  more  to  be  considered  than  the  motive  from 
which  they  receive  it.  Example  alone  is  the  end  of 
all  public  punishments  and  rewards.  Laws  never 
inflict  disgrace  in  resentment,  nor  confer  honour 
from  gratitude.  "  For  it  is  very  hard,  my  lord," 
said  a  convicted  felon  at  the  bar  to  the  late  excellent 
judge  Burnet,  "  to  hang  a  poor  man  for  stealing  a 
horse."  "  You  are  not  to  be  hanged,  sir,"  answered 
my  ever-honoured  and  beloved  friend,  "  for  stealing  a 
horse,  but  you  are  to  be  hanged  that  horses  may  not 
be  stolen."  In  like  manner  it  might  have  been  said 
to  the  late  duke  of  Marlborough,  when  the  parlia- 

[  20^2  1 


INTRODUCTION 

ment  was  so  deservedly  liberal  to  him,  after  the 
battle  of  Blenheim,  "  You  receive  not  these  honours 
and  bounties  on  account  of  a  victory  past,  but  that 
other  victories  may  be  obtained." 

I  was  now,  in  the  opinion  of  all  men,  dying  of  a 
complication  of  disorders  ;  and,  were  I  desirous  of 
playing  the  advocate,  I  have  an  occasion  fair  enough  ; 
but  I  disdain  such  an  attempt.  I  relate  facts  plainly 
and  simply  as  they  are;  and  let  the  world  draw 
from  them  what  conclusions  they  please,  taking  with 
them  the  following  facts  for  their  instruction  :  the 
one  is,  that  the  proclamation  offering  one  hundred 
pounds  for  the  apprehending  felons  for  certain 
felonies  committed  in  cei'tain  places,  which  I  pre- 
vented from  being  revived,  had  formerly  cost  the 
government  several  thousand  pounds  within  a  single 
year.  Secondly,  that  all  such  proclamations,  instead 
of  curins:  the  evil,  had  actually  encreased  it  ;  had 
multiplied  the  number  of  robberies  ;  had  propagated 
the  worst  and  wickedest  of  perjuries  ;  had  laid  snares 
for  youth  and  ignorance,  which,  by  the  temptation 
of  these  rewards,  had  been  sometimes  drawn  into 
guilt ;  and  sometimes,  which  cannot  be  thought  on 
without  the  highest  horror,  had  destroyed  them 
without  it.  Thirdly,  that  my  plan  had  not  put  the 
government  to  more  than  three  hundred  pound  ex- 
pence,  and  had  produced  none  of  the  ill  consequences 
above  mentioned  ;  but,  lastly,  had  actually  suppressed 
the  evil  for  a  time,  and  had  plainly  pointed  out  the 
means  of  suppressing  it  for  ever.  This  I  would 
myself  have  undertaken,  liad  my  health  permitted, 
at  the  annual  expense  of  the  above-mentioned  sum. 

[  203  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

After  having  stood  the  terrible  six  weeks  which 
succeeded  last  Christmas,  and  put  a  lucky  end,  if 
they  had  known  their  own  interests,  to  such  numbers 
of  aged  and  infirm  valetudinarians,  vvlio  might  have 
gasped  through  two  or  three  mild  winters  more,  I 
returned  to  town  in  February,  in  a  condition  less 
despaired  of  by  myself  than  by  any  of  my  friends. 
I  now  became  the  patient  of  Dr.  Ward,  who  wished 
I  had  taken  his  advice  earlier. 

Bv  his  advice  I  was  tapped,  and  fourteen  quarts 
of  water  drawn  from  my  belly.  The  sudden  relaxa- 
tion which  this  caused,  added  to  my  enervate,  ema- 
ciated habit  of  body,  so  weakened  me  that  within 
two  days  I  was  thought  to  be  falling  into  the  ago- 
nies of  death. 

I  was  at  the  worst  on  that  memorable  day  when 
the  public  lost  Mr.  Pelham.  From  that  day  I  began 
slowly,  as  it  were,  to  draw  my  feet  out  of  the  grave ; 
till  in  two  months"'  time  I  had  again  acquired  some 
little  degree  of  strength,  but  was  again  full  of  water. 

During  this  whole  time  I  took  Mr.  Ward's  medi- 
cines, which  had  seldom  any  perceptible  operation. 
Those  in  particular  of  the  diaphoretic  kind,  the 
working  of  which  is  thought  to  require  a  great 
strength  of  constitution  to  support,  had  so  little 
effect  on  me,  that  Mr.  \Vard  dcclai'ed  it  was  as  vain 
to  attempt  sweating  me  as  a  deal  board. 

In  this  situation  I  was  tapped  a  second  time.  I 
had  one  quart  of  water  less  taken  from  me  now  than 
before  ;  but  I  bore  all  the  consequences  of  the  opera- 
tion much  better.  This  I  attributed  greatly  to  a 
dose  of  laudanum   prescribed    by   my   surgeon.     It 

[204  ] 


INTRODUCTION 

first  gave  me  the  most  delicious  flow  of  spirits,  and 
afterwards  as  comfortable  a  nap. 

The  month  of  May,  which  was  now  begun,  it 
seemed  reasonable  to  expect  would  introduce  the 
spring,  and  drive  off  that  winter  which  yet  main- 
tained its  footing  on  the  stage.  I  resolved  there- 
fore to  visit  a  little  house  of  mine  in  the  country, 
which  stands  at  Ealing,  in  the  county  of  Middlesex, 
in  the  best  air,  I  believe,  in  the  whole  kingdom,  and 
far  superior  to  that  of  Kensington  Gravel-pits  ;  for 
the  gravel  is  here  much  wider  and  deeper,  the  place 
higher  and  more  open  towards  the  south,  whilst  it  is 
guarded  from  the  north  wind  by  a  ridge  of  hills,  and 
from  the  smells  and  smoak  of  London  by  its  dis- 
tance; which  last  is  not  the  fate  of  Kensington, 
when  the  wind  blows  from  any  corner  of  the  east. 

Obligations  to  Mr.  Ward  I  shall  always  confess; 
for  I  am  convinced  that  he  omitted  no  care  in  en- 
deavouring to  serve  me,  without  any  expectation  or 
desire  of  fee  or  reward. 

The  powers  of  Mr.  Ward's  remedies  want  indeed 
no  unfair  puffs  of  mine  to  give  them  credit ;  and 
though  this  distemi)er  of  the  dropsy  stands,  I  believe, 
first  in  the  list  of  those  over  which  he  is  always  cer- 
tain of  triumphing,  yet,  possibly,  there  might  be 
something  particular  in  my  case  capable  of  eluding 
that  radical  force  which  had  healed  so  many  thou- 
sands. The  same  distemper,  in  different  constitutions, 
may  possibly  be  attended  with  such  different  symp- 
toms, that  to  find  an  infallible  nostrum  for  the  curing 
any  one  distemper  in  every  patient  may  be  almost  aa 
difficult  as  to  find  a  panacea  for  the  cure  of  all. 

[205  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

But  even  such  a  panacea  one  of  the  greatest 
scholars  and  best  of  men  did  lately  apprehend  he 
had  discovered.  It  is  true,  indeed,  he  was  no 
physician  ;  that  is,  he  had  not  by  the  forms  of  his 
education  accjuired  a  right  of  applying  his  skill  in 
the  art  of  ph}  sic  to  his  own  private  advantage  ;  and 
yet,  perhaps,  it  may  be  truly  asserted  that  no  other 
modern  hath  contributed  so  much  to  make  his  phys- 
ical skill  useful  to  the  public  ;  at  least,  that  none 
hath  undergone  the  pains  of  comnmnicating  this 
di>covery  in  writing  to  the  world.  The  reader,  I 
think,  will  scarce  need  to  be  informed  that  the 
writer  I  mean  is  the  late  bishop  of  Cloyne,  in  Ire- 
land, and  the  discovery  that  of  the  virtues  of  tar- 
water. 

I  then  happened  to  recollect,  upon  a  hint  given 
me  by  the  inimitable  and  shamefully-distressed  author 
of  the  Female  Quixote,  that  I  had  many  years  before, 
from  curiosity  only,  taken  a  cursory  view  of  bishop 
Berkeley's  treatise  on  the  virtues  of  tar-water,  which 
I  had  formerly  observed  he  strongly  contends  to  be 
that  real  panacea  which  Sydenham  supposes  to  have 
an  existence  in  nature,  though  it  yet  remains  undis- 
covered, and  perhaps  will  always  remain  so. 

Upon  the  reperusal  of  this  book  I  found  the  bishop 
only  asserting  his  opinion  that  tar-water  might  be 
useful  in  the  dropsy,  since  he  had  known  it  to  have  a 
surprising  success  in  the  cure  of  a  most  stubborn 
anasarca,  which  is  indeed  no  other  than,  as  the  word 
implies,  the  dropsy  of  the  flesh  ;  and  this  was,  at  that 
time,  a  large  part  of  my  complaint. 

After  a  short  trial,  therefore,  of  a  milk  diet,  which 

[206] 

I 


INTRODUCTION 

I  presently  found  did  not  suit  with  my  case,  I  betook 
myself  to  the  bishop's  prescription,  and  dosed  myself 
every  morning  and  evening  with  half  a  pint  of  tar- 
water. 

It  was  no  more  than  three  weeks  since  my  last 
tapping,  and  my  belly  and  limbs  were  distended  with 
water.  This  did  not  give  me  the  worse  opinion  of 
tar- water;  for  I  never  supposed  there  could  be  any 
such  virtue  in  tar-water  as  immediately  to  carry  off 
a  (juantity  of  water  already  collected.  For  my 
deliverv  fi'om  this  I  well  knew  I  must  be  aerain 
obliged  to  the  trochar  ;  and  that  if  the  tar-water  did 
me  any  good  at  all  it  must  be  only  bv  the  slowest 
degrees ;  and  that  if  it  should  ever  get  the  better  of 
my  distemper  it  must  be  by  the  tedious  operation 
of  undermining,  and  not  by  a  sudden  attack  and 
storm. 

Some  visible  effects,  however,  and  far  beyond  what 
my  most  sanguine  hopes  could  with  any  modestv 
expect,  I  very  soon  experienced;  the  tar- water  having, 
from  the  very  first,  lessened  my  illness,  increased  my 
appetite,  and  added,  though  in  a  very  slow  proportion, 
to  my  bodily  strength. 

But  if  my  strength  had  increased  a  little  my  water 
daily  increased  nmch  more.  So  that,  by  the  end  of 
May,  my  belly  became  again  ripe  for  the  trochar,  and 
I  was  a  third  time  tapped  ;  upon  which,  two  very 
favourable  symptoms  appeared.  I  had  three  quarts 
of  water  taken  from  me  less  than  had  been  taken  the 
last  time  ;  and  I  bore  the  relaxation  with  nmch  less 
(indeed  with  scarce  any)  faintness. 

Those  of  my  physical  friends  on  whose  judgment  I 

[  207  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

chiefly  depended  seemed  to  think  my  only  chance  of 
life  consisted  in  having  the  whole  summer  before  me  ; 
in  whicli  Imiglit  hope  to  gather  sufficient  .strength  to 
encounter  the  inclemencies  of  the  ensuing  winter. 
But  this  chance  began  daily  to  lessen.  I  saw  the 
summer  mouldering  away,  or  rather,  indeed,  the 
year  passing  away  without  intending  to  bring  on 
any  summer  at  all.  In  the  whole  month  of  May 
the  sun  scarce  appeared  three  times.  So  that  the 
earlv  fi-uits  came  to  the  fulness  of  tlieir  growth,  and 
to  some  appearance  of  ripeness,  without  acquiring 
any  real  maturity ;  having  wanted  the  heat  of  the 
sun  to  soften  and  meliorate  their  juices.  I  saw  the 
dropsy  gaining  rather  than  losing  ground  ;  the  dis- 
tance growing  still  shorter  between  the  tappings. 
I  saw  the  asthma  likewise  beginning  again  to  become 
more  troublesome.  I  saw  the  midsummer  quarter 
drawing  towards  a  close.  So  that  I  conceived,  if 
the  Michaelmas  quarter  should  steal  off  in  the  same 
manner,  as  it  was,  in  my  opinion,  very  much  to 
be  apprehended  it  would,  I  should  be  delivered 
up  to  the  attacks  of  winter  before  I  recruited 
my  forces,  so  as  to  be  anywise  able  to  withstand 
them. 

I  now  began  to  recall  an  intention,  which  from 
the  first  dawnings  of  my  recovery  I  had  conceived, 
of  removing  to  a  warmer  climate  ;  and,  finding  this 
to  be  approved  of  by  a  very  eminent  physician,  I 
i-esolved  to  put  it  into  immediate  execution. 

Aix  in  Provence  was  the  place  first  thought  on  ; 
but  the  difficulties  of  getting  thither  were  insuper- 
able.    The  journey  by  land,  beside  the  expence  of 

[208] 


INTRODUCTION 

it,  was  infinitely  too  long  and  fatiguing ;  and  I 
could  hear  of  no  ship  that  was  likely  to  set  out 
from  London,  within  any  reasonable  time,  for 
Marseilles,  or  any  other  port  in  that  part  of  the 
Mediterranean. 

Lisbon  was  presently  fixed  on  in  its  room.  The 
air  here,  as  it  was  near  four  degrees  to  the  south 
of  Aix,  must  be  more  mild  and  warm,  and  the 
winter  shorter  and   less  piercing. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  a  ship  bound  to  a  place 
with  which  we  carry  on  so  immense  a  trade.  Ac- 
cordingly, my  brother  soon  informed  me  of  the  ex- 
cellent accommodations  for  passengers  which  were  to 
be  found  on  board  a  ship  that  was  obliged  to  sail  for 
Lisbon  in  three  days. 

I  eagerly  embraced  the  offer,  notwithstanding  the 
shortness  of  the  time  ;  and,  having  given  my  brother 
full  power  to  contract  for  our  passage,  I  began  to 
prepare  my  family  for  the  voyage  with  the  utmost 
expedition. 

But  our  gi-eat  haste  was  needless ;  for  the  captain 
having  twice  put  off  his  sailing,  I  at  length  invited 
him  to  dinner  with  me  at  Fordhook,  a  full  week 
after  the  time  on  which  he  had  declared,  and  that 
with  many  asseverations,  he  must  and  would  weigh 
anchor. 

He  dined  with  me  according  to  his  appointment  ; 
and  when  all  matters  were  settled  between  us,  left 
me  with  positive  oiders  to  be  on  board  the  ^^^ednes- 
day  following,  when  he  declared  he  would  fall  down 
the  river  to  Gravesend,  and  would  not  stay  a  moment 
for  the  greatest  man  in  the  world, 
vol,  I.  -  U  [  209  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

He  advised  me  to  go  to  Gravesend  by  land,  and 
there  wait  the  arrival  of  his  ship,  assi<^ning  many 
reasons  for  this,  every  one  of  which  was,  as  I  well 
remember,  among  those  that  had  before  determined 
me  to  so  on  board  near  the  Tower. 


[210] 


THE    VOYAGE 

Y  'TT'EDNESDA  Y,  June  26,  1754.  —  On  this 
§ /m/  day  the  most  melancholy  sun  I  had  ever 
f^  f  beheld  arose,  and  found  me  awake  at  my 

house  at  Fordhook.  By  the  light  of  this  sun  I  was, 
in  my  own  opinion,  last  to  behold  and  take  leave  of 
some  of  those  creatures  on  whom  1  doated  with  a 
motherlike  fondness,  guided  by  nature  and  passion, 
and  uncured  and  unhardened  by  all  the  doctrine  of 
that  philosophical  school  where  I  had  learned  to 
bear  pains  and  to  despise  death. 

In  this  situation,  as  I  could  not  conquer  Nature, 
I  submitted  entirely  to  her,  and  she  made  as  great 
a  fool  of  me  as  she  had  ever  done  of  any  woman 
whatsoever  ;  under  pretence  of  giving  me  leave  to 
enjoy,  she  drew  me  in  to  suffer,  the  company  of  my 
little  ones  during  eight  hours ;  and  I  doubt  not 
whether,  in  that  time,  I  did  not  undergo  more  than 
in  all  my  distemper. 

At  twelve  precisely  my  coach  was  at  the  door, 
which  was  no  sooner  told  me  than  I  kissed  my 
children  round,  and  went  into  it  with  some  little 
resolution.  My  wife,  who  behaved  more  like  a 
heroine  and  philosoplier,  tliough  at  the  same  time 
the  tendercst  mother  in  tlie  world,  and  my  eldest 
daughter,  followed  me ;  some  friends  went  with  us, 

[211] 


A   VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

and  others  here  took  their  leave ;  and  I  heard  my  be- 
haviour applaiuled,  with  many  murmurs  and  praises 
to  whicli  I  w  ell  knew  I  had  no  title  ;  as  all  other  such 
philosophers  may,  if  they  have  any  modesty,  confess 
on  the  like  occasions. 

In  two  hours  we  arrived  in  Rotherhithe,  and  im- 
mediately went  on  board,  and  were  to  have  sailed 
the  next  morning ;  but,  as  this  was  the  king's  pro- 
clamation-day, and  consequently  a  holiday  at  the 
custom-house,  the  captain  could  not  clear  his  vessel 
till  the  Thursday ;  for  these  holidays  are  as  strictly 
observed  as  those  in  the  popish  calendar,  and  are 
almost  as  numerous.  I  might  add  that  both  are 
opposite  to  the  genius  of  trade,  and  consequently 
contra  honum  publicum. 

To  go  on  board  the  ship  it  was  necessary  first  to 
go  into  a  boat ;  a  matter  of  no  small  difficulty,  as  I 
had  no  use  of  my  limbs,  and  was  to  be  carried  by 
men  who,  though  sufficiently  strong  for  their  bur- 
then, were,  like  Archimedes,  puzzled  to  find  a  steady 
footing.  Of  this,  as  few  of  my  readers  have  not 
gone  into  wherries  on  the  Thames,  they  will  easily 
be  able  to  form  to  themselves  an  idea.  However, 
by  the  assistance  of  my  friend  Mr.  Welch,  whom  I 
never  think  or  speak  of  but  with  love  and  esteem,  I 
conquered  this  difficulty,  as  I  did  afterwards  that  of 
ascending  the  ship,  into  which  I  was  hoisted  with 
more  ease  by  a  chair  lifted  with  pulleys.  I  was  soon 
seated  in  a  great  chair  in  the  cabin,  to  refresh  my- 
self after  a  fatigue  which  had  been  more  intolerable, 
in  a  quarter  of  a  mile's  passage  from  my  coach  to 
the  ship,  than  I  had  before  undergone  in  a  land- 

[212  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

journey  of  twelve  miles,  which  I  had  travelled  with 
the  utmost  expedition. 

This  latter  fatigue  was,  perhaps,  somewhat  height- 
ened by  an  indignation  which  I  could  not  prevent 
arising  in  my  mind.  I  think,  upon  my  entrance  into 
the  boat,  I  presented  a  spectacle  of  the  highest  hoi- 
ror.  The  total  loss  of  limbs  was  apparent  to  all 
who  saw  me,  and  my  face  contained  marks  of  a  most 
diseased  state,  if  not  of  death  itself.  Indeed,  so 
ghastly  was  my  countenance,  that  timorous  women 
with  child  had  abstained  from  my  house,  for  fear  of 
the  ill  consequences  of  looking  at  me.  In  this  con- 
dition I  ran  the  gauntlope  (so  I  think  I  may  justly 
call  it)  through  rows  of  sailors  and  watermen,  few  of 
whom  failed  of  paying  their  compliments  to  me  by 
all  manner  of  insults  and  jests  on  my  misery.  No 
man  who  knew  me  will  think  I  conceived  any  per- 
sonal resentment  at  this  behaviour  ;  but  it  was  a 
lively  picture  of  that  cruelty  and  inhumanity  in  the 
nature  of  men  which  I  have  often  contemplated  with 
concern,  and  which  leads  the  mind  into  a  train  of 
very  uncomfortable  and  melancholy  thoughts.  It 
may  be  said  that  this  barbarous  custom  is  peculiar 
to  the  English,  and  of  them  only  to  the  lowest  de- 
gree ;  that  it  is  an  excrescence  of  an  uncontrouled 
licentiousness  mistaken  for  liberty,  and  never  shews 
itself  in  men  who  are  polished  and  refined  in  such 
manner  as  human  nature  requires  to  produce  that 
perfection  of  which  it  is  susceptible,  and  to  purge 
away  that  malevolence  of  disposition  of  which,  at 
our  birth,  we  partake  in  common  with  the  savage 
creation. 

[213] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

This  may  be  said,  and  this  is  all  that  can  be  said  ; 
and  it  is,  I  am  afraid,  but  little  satisfactory  to  account 
for  the  inhumanity  of  those  who,  while  they  boast  of 
being  made  after  God's  own  image,  seem  to  bear  in 
their  minds  a  resemblance  of  the  vilest  species  of 
brutes  ;  or  rather,  indeed,  of  our  idea  of  devils  ;  for  I 
don't  know  that  any  brutes  can  be  taxed  with  such 
malevolence. 

A  sirloin  of  beef  was  now  placed  on  the  table,  for 
which,  though  little  better  than  carrion,  as  much  was 
charged  by  the  master  of  the  little  paltry  ale-house 
who  dressed  it  as  would  have  been  demanded  for  all 
the  elegance  of  the  King's  Arms,  or  any  other  polite 
tavern  or  eating-house !  for,  indeed,  the  difference 
between  the  best  house  and  the  worst  is,  that  at  the 
former  you  pay  largely  for  luxury,  at  the  latter  for 
nothing. 

Thursday,  June  27.  — This  morning  the  captain, 
who  lay  on  shore  at  his  own  house,  paid  us  a  visit  in 
the  cabin,  and  behaved  like  an  angry  bashaw,  declar- 
ing that,  had  he  known  we  were  not  to  be  pleased,  he 
would  not  have  carried  us  for  five  hundred  pounds. 
He  added  many  asseverations  that  he  was  a  gentleman, 
and  despised  money  ;  not  forgetting  several  hints  of 
the  presents  which  had  been  made  him  for  his  cabin, 
of  twenty,  thirty,  and  forty  guineas,  by  several  gentle- 
men, over  and  above  the  sum  for  which  they  had  con- 
tracted. This  behaviour  greatly  surprised  me,  as  I 
knew  not  how  to  account  for  it,  nothing  having  hap- 
pened since  we  parted  from  the  captain  the  evening 
before  in  perfect  good-humour;  and  all  this  broke 
forth  on  the  first  moment  of  his  arrival  this  morning. 

[214  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

He  did  not,  however,  suffer  my  amazement  to  have 
any  long  continuance  before  he  clearly  shewed  me 
that  all  this  was  meant  only  as  an  apology  to  intro- 
duce another  procrastination  (being  the  fifth)  of  his 
weighing  anchor,  which  was  now  postponed  till  Satur- 
day, for  such  was  his  will  and  pleasure. 

Besides  the  disagreeable  situation  in  which  we  then 
lay,  in  the  confines  of  Wapping  and  Rotherhithe, 
tasting  a  delicious  mixture  of  the  air  of  both  these 
sweet  places,  and  enjoying  the  concord  of  sweet  sounds 
of  seamen,  watermen,  fish-women,  oyster-women,  and 
of  all  the  vociferous  inhabitants  of  both  shores,  com- 
posing altogether  a  greater  variety  of  harmony  than 
Hogarth's  imagination  hath  brought  together  in  that 
print  of  his,  which  is  enough  to  make  a  man  deaf  to 
look  at  —  I  had  a  more  urgent  cause  to  press  our 
departure,  which  was,  that  the  dropsy,  for  which  I 
had  undergone  three  tappings,  seemed  to  threaten  me 
with  a  fourth  discharge  before  I  should  reach  Lisbon, 
and  when  I  should  have  nobody  on  board  capable  of 
performing  the  operation ;  but  I  was  obliged  to 
hearken  to  the  voice  of  reason,  if  I  n)ay  use  the  cap- 
tain''s  own  words,  and  to  rest  mvself  contented.  In- 
deed,  there  was  no  alternative  within  my  reach  but 
what  would  have  cost  me  niuch  too  dear. 

There  are  many  evils  in  society  from  which  people 
of  the  higliest  rank  are  so  entirely  exempt,  that  they 
have  not  the  least  knowledge  or  idea  of  them  ;  nor 
indeed  of  the  characters  which  are  formed  by  them. 
Such,  for  instance,  is  the  convcNance  of  goods  and 
passengers  from  one  place  to  another.  Now  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  anv  kind  of  knowledge  contempti- 

[215] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ble  in  itself;  and,  as  the  particular  knowledge  I  here 
mean  is  entirely  necessary  to  the  well  understanding 
and  well  enjoying  this  journal ;  and,  lastly,  as  in  this 
case  the  most  ignorant  will  be  those  very  readers 
w'hose  amusement  we  chiefly  consult,  and  to  whom 
we  wish  to  be  supposed  principally  to  write,  we  will 
here  enter  somewhat  largel}^  into  the  discussion  of 
this  matter ;  the  rather,  for  that  no  antient  or  mod- 
em author  (if  we  can  trust  the  catalogue  of  doctor 
Mead's  library)  hath  ever  undertaken  it,  but  that  it 
seems  (in  the  style  of  Don  Quixote)  a  task  reserved 
for  mv  pen  alone. 

When  I  first  conceived  this  intention  I  began  to 
entertain  thoughts  of  enquiring  into  the  antiquity  of 
tmvelling ;  and,  as  many  persons  have  performed  in 
this  way  (I  mean  have  travelled)  at  the  expence  of 
the  public,  I  flattered  myself  that  the  spirit  of  im- 
proving arts  and  sciences,  and  of  advancing  useful 
and  substantial  learning,  which  so  eminently  dis- 
tinguishes this  age,  and  hath  given  rise  to  more 
speculative  societies  in  Europe  than  I  at  present  can 
recollect  the  names  of — perhaps,  indeed,  than  I  or 
any  other,  besides  their  very  near  neighbours,  ever 
heard  mentioned  —  would  assist  in  promoting  so  curi- 
ous a  work  ;  a  work  begun  with  the  same  views,  cal- 
culated for  the  same  purposes,  and  fitted  for  the  same 
uses,  with  the  labours  which  those  right  honourable 
societies  have  so  chearfully  undertaken  themselves, 
and  encouraged  in  others  ;  sometimes  with  the  highest 
honours,  even  with  admission  into  their  colleges,  and 
with  imolnient  amonfj  their  members. 

From  these  societies  I  promised  myself  all  assist- 

[«16J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ance  in  their  power,  particularly  the  communication 
of  such  valuable  manuscripts  and  records  as  they 
must  be  supposed  to  have  collected  from  those  ob- 
scure ages  of  antiquity  when  history  yields  us  such 
imperfect  accounts  of  the  residence,  and  much  more 
imperfect  of  the  travels,  of  the  human  race ;  unless, 
perhaps,  as  a  curious  and  learned  member  of  the 
young  Society  of  Antiquarians  is  said  to  have  hinted 
his  conjectures,  that  their  residence  and  their  travels 
were  one  and  the  same  ;  and  this  discovery  (for  such 
it  seems  to  be)  he  is  said  to  have  owed  to  the  light- 
ing by  accident  on  a  book,  which  we  shall  have  occa- 
sion to  mention  presently,  the  contents  of  which  were 
then  little  known  to  the  society. 

The  king  of  Prussia,  moreover,  who,  from  a  degree 
of  benevolence  and  taste  which  in  cither  case  is  a 
rare  production  in  so  northern  a  climate,  is  the  great 
encourager  of  art  and  science,  I  was  well  assured 
would  promote  so  useful  a  design,  and  order  his  ar- 
chives to  be  searched  on  my  behalf 

But  after  well  weighing  all  these  advantages,  and 
much  meditation  on  the  order  of  my  work,  my 
whole  design  was  subverted  in  a  moment  by  hear- 
ing of  the  discovery  just  mentioned  to  have  been 
made  by  the  young  anti(|uarian,  who,  from  the  most 
antient  record  in  the  world  (though  I  don't  find  the 
society  are  all  agreed  on  this  point),  one  long  pre- 
ceding the  date  of  the  earliest  modern  collections, 
either  of  books  or  butterflies,  none  of  which  pretend 
to  go  beyond  the  flood,  shews  us  that  the  flrst  man 
was  a  traveller,  and  that  he  and  his  family  were 
scarce  settled  in  Paradise  before  they  disliked  their 

[217] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

own  home,  and  became  passengers  to  another  place. 
Hence  it  appears  that  the  humour  of  traveUing  is  as 
old  as  the  human  race,  and  that  it  was  their  curse 
from  the  beginning. 

Bv  this  discovery  my  plan  became  much  shortened, 
and  I  found  it  only  necessary  to  treat  of  the  convey- 
ance of  goods  and  passengers  from  place  to  place  ; 
which,  not  being  universally  known,  seemed  proper 
to  be  explained  before  we  examined  into  its  original. 
There  are  indeed  two  different  ways  of  tracing  all 
things  used  by  the  historian  and  the  antiquary  ; 
these  are  upwards  and  downwards.  The  former 
shews  you  how  things  are,  and  leaves  to  others  to 
discover  when  they  began  to  be  so.  The  latter 
shews  you  how  things  were,  and  leaves  their  present 
existence  to  be  examined  by  others.  Hence  the 
former  is  more  useful,  the  latter  more  curious.  The 
former  receives  the  thanks  of  mankind  :  the  latter 
of  that  valuable  part,  the  virtuosi. 

In  explaining,  therefore,  this  mvstery  of  carrying 
goods  and  passengers  from  one  place  to  another, 
hitherto  so  profound  a  secret  to  the  very  best  of  our 
readers,  we  shall  pursue  the  historical  method,  and 
endeavour  to  shew  by  what  means  it  is  at  present 
performed,  referring  the  more  curious  enquiry  either 
to  some  other  pen  or  to  some  other  opportunity. 

Now  there  are  two  general  ways  of  performing 
(if  God  permit)  this  conveyance,  viz.,  by  land  and 
water,  both  of  which  have  much  variety  ;  that  by 
land  being  performed  in  different  vehicles,  such  as 
coaches,  caravans,  waggons,  &c.  ;  and  that  by  water 
in  ships,  barges,  and  boats,  of  various  sizes  and  de- 

[218] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

nominations.  But,  as  all  these  methods  of  convey- 
ance are  formed  on  the  same  principles,  they  agree 
so  well  together,  that  it  is  fully  sufficient  to  com- 
prehend them  all  in  the  general  view,  without 
descending  to  such  nn'nute  particulars  as  would 
distinguish   one   method   from   another. 

Common  to  all  of  these  is  one  general  principle, 
that,  as  the  goods  to  be  conveved  are  usually  the 
larger,  so  they  are  to  be  chiefly  considered  in  the 
conveyance ;  the  owner  being  indeed  little  more  than 
an  appendage  to  his  trunk,  or  box,  or  bale,  or  at 
best  a  small  part  of  his  own  baggage,  very  little 
care  is  to  be  taken  in  stowing  or  packing  them 
up  with  convenience  to  himself;  for  the  conveyance 
is  not  of  passengers  and  goods,  but  of  goods  and 
passengers. 

Secondly,  from  this  conveyance  arises  a  new  kind 
of  relation,  or  rather  of  subjection,  in  the  society,  by 
which  the  passenger  becomes  bound  in  allegiance  to 
his  conveyer.  This  allegiance  is  indeed  only  tempo- 
rary and  local,  but  the  most  absolute  during  its  con- 
tinuance of  any  known  in  Great  Britain,  and,  to  say 
truth,  scarce  consistent  with  the  liberties  of  a  free 
people,  nor  could  it  be  reconciled  with  them,  did  it 
not  move  downwards ;  a  circumstance  universallv 
apprehended  to  be  incompatible  to  all  kinds  of 
slavery  ;  for  Aristotle  in  his  Politicks  hath  proved 
abundantly  to  my  satisfaction  that  no  men  are  born 
to  be  slaves,  except  barbarians  ;  and  these  onlv  to 
such  as  are  not  themselves  barbarians  ;  and  indeed 
Mr.  Montes(|uieu  hath  carried  it  very  little  farther 
in  the  case  of  the  Africans  ;    the  real  truth    being 

[  219  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

that  no  man  is  born  to  be  a  slave,  unless  to  him 
who  is  able  to  make  him  so. 

Thinlly,  this  subjection  is  absolute,  and  consists 
of  a  perfect  resignation  both  of  body  and  soul  to  the 
disposal  of  another  ;  after  which  resignation,  during 
a  certain  time,  his  subject  retains  no  more  power 
over  his  own  will  than  an  Asiatic  slave,  or  an  En"- 
lish  wife,  by  the  laws  of  both  countries,  and  by  the 
customs  of  one  of  them.  If  I  should  mention  the 
instance  of  a  stage-coachman,  many  of  my  readers 
would  recognise  the  truth  of  what  I  have  here  ob- 
served ;  all,  indeed,  that  ever  have  been  under  the 
dominion  of  that  tyrant,  who  in  this  free  country  is 
as  absolute  as  a  Turkish  bashaw.  In  two  particulars 
only  his  power  is  defective  ;  he  cannot  press  you  into 
his  service,  and  if  you  enter  yourself  at  one  place, 
on  condition  of  being  discharged  at  a  certain  time 
at  another,  he  is  obliged  to  perform  his  agreement, 
if  God  permit,  but  all  the  intermediate  time  you  are 
absolutely  under  his  government ;  he  carries  you 
how  he  will,  when  he  will,  and  whither  he  will,  pro- 
vided it  be  not  much  out  of  the  road  ;  you  have 
nothing  to  eat  or  to  drink,  but  what,  and  when,  and 
where  he  pleases.  Nay,  you  cannot  sleep  unless  he 
pleases  you  should  ;  for  he  will  order  you  sometimes 
out  of  bed  at  midnight  and  hurry  you  away  at  a 
moment's  warning  :  indeed,  if  you  can  sleep  in  his 
vehicle  he  cannot  prevent  it ;  nay,  indeed,  to  give 
him  his  due,  this  he  is  ordinarily  disposed  to  en- 
courage :  for  the  earlier  he  foi-ces  you  to  rise  in  the 
morning,  the  more  time  he  will  give  you  in  the  heat 
of  the  day,  sometimes  even  six  hours  at  an  ale-house, 

[220] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

or  at  their  doors,  where  he  always  gives  vou  the 
same  indulgence  which  he  allows  himself;  and  for 
this  he  is  generally  very  moderate  in  his  demands.  I 
have  known  a  whole  bundle  of  passengers  charged  no 
more  than  half-a-crown  for  being  suffered  to  remain 
quiet  at  an  ale-house  door  for  above  a  whole  hour, 
and  that  even  in  the  hottest  day  in  summer. 

But  as  this  kind  of  tyranny,  though  it  hath 
escaped  our  political  writers,  hath  been  I  think 
touched  by  our  dramatic,  and  is  more  trite  among 
the  generality  of  readers  ;  and  as  this  and  all  other 
kinds  of  such  subjection  are  alike  unknown  to  my 
friends,  I  will  quit  the  passengers  by  land,  and  treat 
of  those  who  travel  by  water ;  for  whatever  is  said 
on  this  subject  is  applicable  to  both  alike,  and  we 
may  bring  them  together  as  closely  as  they  are 
brought  in  the  litui-gy,  when  they  are  recommended 
to  the  prayers  of  all  Christian  congregations ;  and 
(which  I  have  often  thought  very  remarkable)  where 
they  are  joined  with  other  miserable  wretches,  such 
as  women  in  labour,  people  in  sickness,  infants  just 
born,  prisoners  and  captives. 

Goods  and  passengers  are  conveyed  by  water  in 
divers  vehicles,  the  principal  of  which  being  a  ship, 
it  shall  suffice  to  mention  that  alone.  Here  the 
tyrant  doth  not  derive  his  title,  as  the  stage-coach- 
man doth,  from  the  vehicle  itself  in  which  he  stows 
his  goods  and  passengers,  but  he  is  called  the  captain 
—  a  word  of  such  various  use  and  uncertain  significa- 
tion, that  it  seems  very  difficult  to  fix  any  positive 
idea  to  it :  if,  indeed,  there  be  any  general  meaning 
which  may  comprehend  all  its  different  uses,  that  of 

[221  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

the  head  or  chief  of  any  body  of  men  seems  to  be  most 
capable  of  this  comprehension  ;  for  whether  they  be 
a  company  of  soldiers,  a  crew  of  sailors,  or  a  gang 
of  rogues,  he  who  is  at  the  head  of  them  is  always 
stiled  the  captain. 

The  particular  tyrant  whose  fortune  it  was  to  stow 
us  aboard  laid  a  fai'ther  claim  to  this  appellation 
than  the  bare  command  of  a  vehicle  of  conveyance. 
He  had  been  the  captain  of  a  privateer,  which  he 
chose  to  call  being  in  the  king''s  service,  and  thence 
derived  a  right  of  hoisting  the  military  ornament  of 
a  cockade  over  the  button  of  his  hat.  He  likewise 
woi-e  a  sword  of  no  ordinary  length  by  his  side,  with 
which  he  swaggered  in  his  cabin,  among  the  wretches 
his  passengers,  whom  he  had  stowed  in  cupboards  on 
each  side.  He  was  a  person  of  a  very  singular  char- 
acter. He  had  taken  it  into  his  head  that  he  was  a 
gentleman,  from  those  very  reasons  that  proved  he 
was  not  one  ;  and  to  shew  himself  a  fine  gentleman, 
by  a  behaviour  which  seemed  to  insinuate  he  had 
never  seen  one.  He  was,  moreover,  a  man  of  gal- 
lantry ;  at  the  age  of  seventy  he  Lad  the  finicalness 
of  Sir  Courtly  Nice,  with  the  roughness  of  Surly  ; 
and,  while  he  was  deaf  himself,  had  a  voice  capable 
of  deafening  all  others. 

Now,  as  I  saw  myself  in  danger  by  the  delays  of 
the  captain,  w'ho  was,  in  reality,  waiting  for  more 
freight,  and  as  the  wind  had  been  long  nested,  as  it 
were,  in  the  south-west,  where  it  constantly  blew 
hurricanes,  I  began  with  great  reason  to  apprehend 
that  our  voyage  might  be  long,  and  that  my  belly, 
which  began  already  to  be   much  extended,  would 

[  222  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

require  the  water  to  be  let  out  at  a  time  when  no 
assistance  was  at  hand  ;  though,  indeed,  the  captain 
comforted  me  with  assurances  that  he  had  a  pretty 
young  fellow  on  board  who  acted  as  his  surgeon,  as 
I  found  he  likewise  did  as  steward,  cook,  butler, 
sailor.  In  short,  he  had  as  many  offices  as  Scrub 
in  the  play,  and  went  through  them  all  with  great 
dexterity  ;  this  of  surgeon  was,  perhaps,  the  only  one 
in  which  his  skill  was  somewhat  deficient,  at  least, 
that  branch  of  tapping  for  the  dropsy  ;  for  he  very 
ingenuously  and  modestly  confessed  he  had  never 
seen  the  operation  performed,  nor  was  possessed  of 
that  chirurgical  instrument  with  which  it  is  per- 
formed. 

Friday.,  June  28.  —  By  way  of  prevention,  there- 
fore, I  this  day  sent  for  my  friend  Mr.  Hunter,  the 
great  surgeon  and  anatomist  of  Covent-garden  ;  and, 
though  my  belly  was  not  yet  very  full  and  tight,  let 
out  ten  quarts  of  water ;  the  young  sea-surgeon  at- 
tended the  operation,  not  as  a  performer,  but  as  a 
student. 

I  was  now  eased  of  the  greatest  apprehension  which 
I  had  from  the  length  of  the  passage  ;  and  I  told  the 
captain  I  was  become  indifferent  as  to  the  time  of 
his  sailing.  He  expressed  much  satisfaction  in  this 
declaration,  and  at  hearing  from  me  that  I  found 
myself,  since  my  tapping,  much  lighter  and  better. 
In  this,  I  believe,  he  was  sincere  ;  for  he  was,  as  we 
shall  have  occasion  to  observe  more  than  once,  a 
very  good-natured  man  ;  and,  as  he  was  a  very  brave 
one  too,  I  found  that  the  heroic  constancy  with  which 
I  had  borne  an  operation  that  is  attended  with  scarce 

[  2J^3  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

any  degree  of  pain  had  not  a  little  raised  me  in  his 
esteem.  That  he  might  adhere,  therefore,  in  the 
most  religious  and  rigorous  manner  to  his  word, 
when  he  had  no  longer  any  temptation  from  interest 
to  break  it,  as  he  had  no  longer  any  hopes  of  more 
goods  or  passengers,  he  ordered  his  ship  to  fall  down 
to  Gravesend  on  Sunday  morning,  and  there  to  wait 
his  arrival. 

Sunday,  June  30.  —  Nothing  worth  notice  passed 
till  that  morning,  when  my  poor  wife,  after  passing 
a  night  in  the  utmost  torments  of  the  toothache, 
resolved  to  have  it  drawn.  I  despatched  therefore 
a  servant  into  Wapping  to  bring  in  haste  the  best 
tooth-drawer  he  could  find.  He  soon  found  out  a 
female  of  great  eminence  in  the  art ;  but  when  he 
brought  her  to  the  boat,  at  the  water-side,  they 
were  informed  that  the  ship  was  gone ;  for  indeed 
she  had  set  out  a  few  minutes  after  his  quitting  her  ; 
nor  did  the  pilot,  who  well  knew  the  errand  on  which 
I  had  sent  my  servant,  think  fit  to  wait  a  moment 
for  his  return,  or  to  give  me  any  notice  of  his  setting 
out,  though  I  had  very  patiently  attended  the  delays 
of  the  captain  four  days,  after  many  solemn  promises 
of  weighing  anchor  every  one  of  the  three  last. 

But  of  all  the  petty  bashaws  or  turbulent  tyrants 
I  ever  beheld,  this  sour- faced  pilot  was  the  worst 
tempered ;  for,  during  the  time  that  he  had  the  guid- 
ance of  the  ship,  which  was  till  we  arrived  in  the 
Downs,  he  complied  with  no  one's  desires,  nor  did 
he  give  a  civil  word,  or  indeed  a  civil  look,  to  any 
on  boaid. 

The  tooth-drawer,  who,  as  I  said  before,  was  one 

[224] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

of  great  eminence  among  her  neighbours,  refused  to 
follow  the  ship  ;  so  that  my  man  made  himself  the 
best  of  his  wav,  and  with  some  difficulty  came  up 
with  us  before  we  were  got  under  full  sail ;  for  after 
that,  as  we  had  both  wind  and  tide  with  us,  he 
would  have  found  it  impossible  to  overtake  the  ship 
till  she  was  come  to  an  anchor  at  Gravesend. 

The  morning  was  fair  and  bright,  and  we  had  a 
passage  thither,  I  think,  as  pleasant  as  can  be  con- 
ceived :  for,  take  it  with  all  its  advantages,  particu- 
larly the  number  of  fine  ships  you  are  always  sure  of 
seeing  by  the  way,  there  is  nothing  to  equal  it  in  all 
the  rivers  of  the  world.  The  yards  of  ]3eptford  and 
of  Woolwich  are  noble  sights,  and  give  us  a  just  idea 
of  the  great  perfection  to  which  we  are  arrived  in 
building  those  floating  castles,  and  the  figure  which 
we  may  always  make  in  Europe  among  the  other 
maritime  powers.  That  of  Woolwich,  at  least,  very 
strongly  imprinted  this  idea  on  my  mind  ;  for  there 
was  now  on  the  stocks  there  the  Royal  Anne,  sup- 
posed to  be  the  lai-gest  ship  ever  built,  and  which 
contains  ten  carriage-guns  more  than  had  ever  yet 
equipped  a  first-rate. 

It  is  true,  perhaps,  that  there  is  more  of  ostenta- 
tion than  of  real  utility  in  ships  of  this  vast  and 
unwieldy  burthen,  which  are  rarely  capable  of  act- 
ing against  an  enemy  ;  but  if  the  building  such  con- 
tributes to  preserve,  among  other  nations,  the  notion 
of  the  British  su{)erioritv  in  naval  aff'aii-s,  the  ex- 
pence,  though  very  great,  is  well  incurred,  and  the 
ostentation  is  laudable  and  truly  political.  Indeed, 
I  should  be  sorry  to  allow  that  Holland,  France,  or 
VOL.  J.  - 15  [  225  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

Spain,  possessed  a  vessel  larger  and  more  beautiful 
than  the  largest  and  most  beautiful  of  oin's ;  for  this 
honour  I  would  always  administer  to  tlie  pride  of 
our  sailors,  who  should  challenge  it  from  all  their 
neighbours  with  truth  and  success.  And  sure  I  am 
that  not  our  honest  tars  alone,  but  every  inhabitant 
of  this  island,  may  exult  in  the  comparison,  when  he 
considers  the  king  of  Great  Britain  as  a  maritime 
prince,  in  opposition  to  any  other  prince  in  Europe  ; 
but  I  am  not  so  certain  that  the  same  idea  of  supe- 
riority will  result  from  comparing  our  land  forces 
with  those  of  many  other  crowned  heads.  In  num- 
bers they  all  far  exceed  us,  and  in  the  goodness  and 
splendour  of  their  troops  many  nations,  particularly 
the  Germans  and  French,  and  perhaps  the  Dutch, 
cast  us  at  a  distance  ;  for,  however  we  may  flatter 
ourselves  with  the  Edwards  and  Henrys  of  former 
ages,  the  change  of  the  whole  art  of  war  since  those 
days,  by  which  the  advantage  of  personal  strength  is 
in  a  manner  entirely  lost,  hath  produced  a  change  in 
military  affairs  to  the  advantage  of  our  enemies.  As 
for  our  successes  in  later  days,  if  they  were  not  en- 
tirely owing  to  the  superior  genius  of  our  general, 
they  were  not  a  little  due  to  the  superior  force  of  his 
money.  Indeed,  if  we  should  arraign  marshal  Saxe 
of  ostentation  when  he  shewed  his  army,  drawn  up, 
to  our  captive  general,  the  day  after  the  battle  of 
I^a  Val,  we  cannot  sav  that  the  ostentation  was  en- 
tirely vain  ;  since  he  certainly  shewed  him  an  army 
which  had  not  been  often  equalled,  either  in  the 
number  or  goodness  of  the  troops,  and  which,  in 
those  respects,  so  far  exceeded  ours,  that  none  can 

[  226  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ever  cast  any  reflexion  on  the  brave  young  prince  who 
could  not  reap  the  lawrels  of  conquest  in  that  day  ; 
but  his  retreat  will  be  always  mentioned  as  an  addi- 
tion to  his  gloi} . 

In  our  marine  the  case  is  entirely  the  reverse,  and  it 
must  be  our  own  fault  if  it  doth  not  continue  so  ;  for 
continue  so  it  will  as  long  as  the  flourishing  state  of 
our  trade  shall  support  it,  and  this  support  it  can 
never  want  till  our  legislature  shall  cease  to  give 
sufficient  attention  to  the  protection  of  our  trade, 
and  our  magistrates  want  sufficient  power,  ability, 
and  honesty,  to  execute  the  laws  ;  a  circumstance  not 
to  be  apprehended,  as  it  cannot  happen  till  our  senates 
and  our  benches  shall  be  filled  with  the  blindest 
ignorance,  or  with  the  blackest  corruption. 

Besides  the  ships  in  the  docks,  we  saw  many  on  the 
water :  the  yatchts  are  sights  of  great  parade,  and  the 
king's  body  yatcht  is,  I  believe,  unequalled  in  any 
country  for  convenience  as  well  as  magnificence  ;  both 
which  are  consulted  in  building  and  equipping  her 
with  the  most  exquisite  art  and  workmanship. 

We  saw  likewise  several  Indiamen  just  returned 
from  their  voyage.  These  are,  I  believe,  the  largest 
and  finest  vessels  which  are  anywhere  employed  in 
commercial  affairs.  The  colliers,  likewise,  which  are 
very  numerous,  and  even  assemble  in  fleets,  are  ships 
of  great  bulk  ;  and  if  we  descend  to  those  used  in  the 
American,  African,  and  European  trades,  and  pass 
through  those  which  visit  our  own  coasts,  to  the 
small  craft  that  lie  between  Chatham  and  the  Tower, 
the  whole  forms  a  most  pleasing  object  to  the  eye,  as 
well  as  highly  warming  to  the  heart  of  an  English- 

[227] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

» 

man  who  has  any  degree  of  love  for  his  country, 
or  can  recognise  any  effect  of  the  patriot  in  his 
constitution. 

Lastly,  the  Royal  Hospital  at  Greenwich,  which 
presents  so  delightful  a  front  to  the  water,  and  doth 
such  honour  at  once  to  its  builder  and  the  nation,  to 
the  great  skill  and  ingenuity  of  the  one,  and  to  the 
no  less  sensible  gratitude  of  the  other,  vei'y  properly 
closes  the  account  of  this  scene ;  \\hich  may  well 
appear  romantic  to  those  who  have  not  themselves 
seen  that,  in  this  one  instance,  truth  and  reality  are 
capable,  perhaps,  of  exceeding  the  power  of  fiction. 

When  we  had  past  by  Green wicii  we  saw  only  two 
or  three  gentlemen's  houses,  all  of  very  moderate  ac- 
count, till  we  reached  Gravesend :  these  are  all  on 
the  Kentish  shore,  which  affords  a  much  drier,  whole- 
sonier,  and  pleasanter  situation,  than  doth  that  of  its 
opposite,  Essex.  This  circumstance,  I  own,  is  some- 
what surprising  to  me,  when  I  reflect  on  the  numerous 
villas  that  crowd  the  river  from  Chelsea  upwards  as 
far  as  Shepperton,  where  the  narrower  channel  affords 
not  half  so  noble  a  prospect,  and  where  the  continual 
succession  of  the  small  ci'aft,  like  the  frequent  repeti- 
tion of  all  things,  which  have  nothing  in  them  great, 
beautiful,  or  admirable,  tire  the  eye,  and  give  us  dis- 
taste and  aversion,  instead  of  pleasure.  With  some 
of  these  situations,  such  as  Barnes,  Mortlake,  &c., 
even  the  shore  of  Essex  might  contend,  not  upon 
very  unequal  terms  ;  but  on  the  Kentish  borders 
there  are  many  spots  to  be  chosen  by  the  builder 
which  might  justly  claim  the  preference  over  almost 
the  very  finest  of  those  in  Middlesex  and  Surrey. 

[228  j 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

How  shall  we  account  for  this  depravity  in  taste  ? 
for  surely  there  are  none  so  very  mean  and  contempt- 
ible as  to  bring  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  number  of 
little  wherries,  gliding  along  after  one  another,  in 
competition  with  what  we  enjoy  in  viewing  a  succes- 
sion of  ships,  with  all  their  sails  expanded  to  the 
winds,  bounding  over  the  waves  before  us. 

And  here  1  cannot  pass  by  another  observation  on 
the  deplorable  want  of  taste  in  our  enjoyments,  which 
we  shew  by  almost  totally  neglecting  the  pursuit  of 
what  seems  to  me  the  highest  degree  of  amusement ; 
this  is,  the  sailing  ourselves  in  little  vessels  of  our 
own,  contrived  only  for  our  ease  and  accommodation, 
to  which  such  situations  of  our  villas  as  I  have  recom- 
mended would  be  so  convenient,  and  even  necessary. 

This  amusement,  I  confess,  if  enjoyed  in  any  per- 
fection, would  be  of  the  expensive  kind;  buh  such 
expence  would  not  exceed  the  reach  of  a  moderate 
fortune,  and  would  fall  very  short  of  the  prices 
which  are  daily  paid  for  pleasures  of  a  far  inferior 
rate.  The  truth,  I  believe,  is,  that  sailing  in  the 
manner  I  have  just  mentioned  is  a  pleasure  rather  un- 
known, or  uiithought  of,  than  rejected  by  those  who 
have  experienced  it;  unless,  perhaps,  the  apprehension 
of  danger  or  sea-sickness  may  be  supposed,  by  the 
timorous  and  delicate,  to  make  too  laige  deductions- 
insisting  that  all  their  enjoyments  shall  come  to  theui 
pure  and  unmixed,  and  being  ever  ready  to  cry  out, 

Nocet  empta  dolore  voluptas. 


This,  however,  was  my  present  case ;  for  the  ease 
and  lightness  which  I  felt  from  my  tapping,  the  gai- 

[229] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ety  of  the  morning,  the  pleasant  saiHng  with  wind 
and  tide,  and  the  many  agreeahle  objects  with  which 
I  was  constantly  entertained  during  the  whole  way, 
were  all  suppressed  and  overcome  by  the  single  con- 
sideration of  my  wife''s  pain,  which  continued  inces- 
santly to  torment  her  till  we  came  to  an  anchor, 
when  I  dispatched  a  messenger  in  great  haste  for  the 
best  reputed  operator  in  Gravesend.  A  surgeon  of 
some  eminence  now  appeared,  who  did  not  decline 
tooth-drawing,  though  he  certainly  would  have  been 
offended  with  the  appellation  of  tooth-drawer  no  less 
than  his  brethren,  the  members  of  that  venerable 
body,  would  be  with  that  of  barber,  since  the  late 
separation  between  those  long-united  companies,  by 
which,  if  the  surgeons  have  gained  much,  the  barbers 
are  supposed  to  have  lost  very  little. 

This  able  and  careful  person  (for  so  I  sincerely 
believe  he  is)  after  examining  the  guilty  tooth,  de- 
clared tliat  it  was  such  a  rotten  shell,  and  so  placed 
at  the  very  remotest  end  of  the  upper  jaw,  where  it 
was  in  a  manner  covered  and  secured  by  a  large  fine 
firm  tooth,  that  he  despaired  of  his  power  of  draw- 
ing it. 

He  said,  indeed,  more  to  my  wife,  and  used  more 
rhetoric  to  dissuade  her  from  having  it  drawn,  than 
is  generally  employed  to  persuade  young  ladies  to 
prefer  a  pain  of  three  moments  to  one  of  three 
months''  continuance,  especially  if  those  young  ladies 
happen  to  be  past  forty  and  fifty  years  of  age,  when, 
by  submitting  to  support  a  racking  torment,  the  only 
good  circumstance  attending  which  is,  it  is  so  short 
that  scarce  one  in  a  thousand  can  cry  out  "  I  feel  it," 

[230  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

they  are  to  do  a  violence  to  their  charms,  and  lose 
one  of  those  beautiful  holders  with  which  alone  Sir 
Courtly  Nice  declares  a  lady  can  ever  lay  hold  of  his 
heart. 

He  said  at  last  so  much,  and  seemed  to  reason  so 
justly,  that  I  came  over  to  his  side,  and  assisted  him 
in  prevailing  on  my  wife  (for  it  was  no  easy  matter) 
to  resolve  on  keeping  her  tooth  a  little  longer,  and 
to  apply  palliatives  only  for  relief.  These  were 
opium  applied  to  the  tooth,  and  blisters  behind  the 
ears. 

Whilst  we  were  at  dinner  this  day  in  the  cabin, 
on  a  sudden  the  window  on  one  side  was  beat  into 
the  room  with  a  crash  as  if  a  twenty-pounder  had 
been  discharged  among  us.  We  were  all  alarmed  at 
the  suddenness  of  the  accident,  for  which,  however, 
we  were  soon  able  to  account,  for  the  sash,  which 
was  shivered  all  to  pieces,  was  pursued  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  cabin  by  the  bowsprit  of  a  little  ship  called 
a  cod-smack,  the  master  of  which  made  us  amends 
for  running  (carelessly  at  best)  against  us,  and  injur- 
ing the  ship,  in  the  sea-way  ;  that  is  to  say,  by  danm- 
ing  us  all  to  hell,  and  uttering  several  pious  wishes 
that  it  had  done  us  much  more  mischief.  All  which 
were  answered  in  their  own  kind  and  phrase  by  our 
men,  between  whom  and  the  other  crew  a  dialogue  of 
oaths  and  scun-ility  was  carried  on  as  long  as  they 
continued  in  each  other''s  hearing. 

It  is  difhcult,  I  think,  to  assign  a  satisfactory  reason 
why  sailors  in  general  should,  of  all  others,  think 
themselves  entirely  discharged  from  the  conunon 
bands  of  humanity,  and  should  seem  to  glory  in  the 

[231] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

language  and  bclmviour  of  savages  !  They  see  more 
of  the  world,  and  have,  most  of  them,  a  more  erudite 
education  than  is  the  portion  of  landmen  of  their 
degree.  Nor  do  I  believe  that  in  any  country  they 
visit  (Holland  itself  not  excepted)  they  can  ever  find 
a  parallel  to  what  daily  passes  on  the  river  Thames. 
Is  it  that  they  think  true  couz-age  (for  they  are  the 
bravest  fellows  upon  earth)  inconsistent  with  all  the 
gentleness  of  a  humane  carriage,  and  that  the  con- 
tempt of  civil  order  springs  up  in  minds  but  little 
cultivated,  at  the  same  time  and  from  the  same 
principles  with  the  contempt  of  danger  and  death  ? 

Is  it ?  in  short,  it  is  so ;  and  how  it  comes  to 

be  so  I  leave  to  form  a  question  in  the  Robin  Hood 
Society,  or  to  be  propounded  for  solution  among  the 
aenigmas  in  the  Woman's  Almanac  for  the  next 
year. 

Monday,  July  1.  —  This  day  Mr.  Welch  took  his 
leave  of  me  after  dinner,  as  did  a  young  lady  of  her 
sister,  who  was  proceeding  with  my  wife  to  Lisbon. 
They  both  set  out  together  in  a  post-chaise  for 
London. 

Soon  after  their  departure  our  cabin,  where  my 
wife  and  I  were  sitting  together,  was  visited  by  two 
ruffians,  whose  appearance  greatly  corresponded  with 
that  of  the  sheriffs,  or  rather  the  knight- marshal's 
bailiffs.  One  of  these  especially,  who  seemed  to 
affect  a  more  than  ordinary  degree  of  rudeness  and 
insolence,  came  in  without  any  kind  of  ceremony, 
M'ith  a  broad  gold  lace  on  his  hat,  which  was  cocked 
with  much  military  fierceness  on  his  head.  An 
inkhorn  at  his  button-hole  and  some  papers  in  his 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

hand  sufficiently  assured  me  what  he  was,  and  I 
asked  him  if  he  and  his  companion  were  not  custom- 
house officers :  he  answered  with  sufficient  dignity 
that  they  were,  as  an  information  which  he  seemed 
to  conclude  would  strike  the  hearer  with  awe,  and 
suppress  all  further  enquiry ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  I 
proceeded  to  ask  of  what  rank  he  was  in  the  custom- 
house, and,  receiving  an  answer  from  his  companion, 
as  I  remember,  that  the  gentleman  was  a  riding 
surveyor,  I  replied  that  he  might  be  a  riding  sur- 
veyor, but  could  be  no  gentleman,  for  that  none  who 
had  any  title  to  that  denomination  would  break  into 
the  presence  of  a  lady  Avithout  an  apology  or  even 
movina:  his  hat.  He  then  took  his  coverin<r  from 
his  head  and  laid  it  on  the  table,  saying,  he  asked 
pardon,  and  blamed  the  mate,  who  should,  he  said, 
have  informed  him  if  any  persons  of  distinction  were 
below.  I  told  him  he  might  guess  by  our  appearance 
(which,  perhaps,  was  rather  more  than  could  be  said 
with  the  strictest  adherence  to  truth)  that  he  was 
before  a  gentleman  and  lady,  which  should  teach 
him  to  be  very  civil  in  his  behaviour,  though  we 
should  not  happen  to  be  of  that  number  whom  the 
world  calls  people  of  fashion  and  distinction.  How- 
ever, I  said,  that  as  he  seemed  sensible  of  his  error, 
and  had  asked  pardon,  the  lady  would  permit  him 
to  put  his  hat  on  again  if  he  chose  it.  This  he 
refused  with  some  degree  of  surliness,  and  failed  not 
to  convince  me  that,  if  I  should  condescend  to  become 
more  gentle,  he  uould  soon  grow  more  rude. 

I  now  renewed   a  refie::i()n,   which   I   have  often 
seen  occasion  to  make,  that  there  is  nothing  so  in- 

[  2iV6  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

congruous  in  nature  as  any  kind  of  power  with  low- 
ness  of  mind  and  of  ability,  and  that  there  is  nothing 
more  deplorable  than  the  want  of  truth  in  the  whim- 
sical notion  of  Plato,  who  tells  us  that  "  Saturn,  well 
knowing  the  state  of  human  affairs,  gave  us  kings 
and  rulers,  not  of  human  but  divine  original ;  for,  as 
we  make  not  shepherds  of  sheep,  nor  oxherds  of  oxen, 
nor  goatherds  of  goats,  but  place  some  of  our  own 
kind  over  all  as  being  better  and  fitter  to  govern 
them  ;  in  the  same  manner  were  demons  by  the  di- 
vine love  set  over  us  as  a  race  of  beings  of  a  superior 
order  to  men,  and  who,  with  great  ease  to  them- 
selves, might  regulate  our  affairs  and  establish  peace, 
modesty,  freedom,  and  justice,  and,  totally  destroy- 
ing all  sedition,  might  complete  the  happiness  of  the 
human  race.  So  far,  at  least,  may  even  now  be  said 
with  truth,  that  in  all  states  which  are  under  the 
government  of  mere  man,  without  any  divine  assist- 
ance, there  is  nothing  but  labour  and  misery  to  be 
found.  From  what  I  have  said,  therefore,  we  may  at 
least  learn,  with  our  utmost  endeavours,  to  imitate 
the  Saturnian  institution  ;  borrowing  all  assistance 
from  our  immortal  part,  while  we  pay  to  this  the 
strictest  obedience,  we  should  form  both  our  private 
ceconomy  and  public  policy  from  its  dictates.  By 
this  dispensation  of  our  innnortal  minds  we  are  to 
establish  a  law  and  to  call  it  by  that  name.  But  if 
any  government  be  in  the  hands  of  a  single  person, 
of  the  few,  or  of  the  many,  and  such  governor  or 
governors  shall  abandon  himself  or  themselves  to  the 
unbridled  pursuit  of  the  wildest  pleasures  or  desires, 
unable  to  restrain  any  passion,  but  possessed  with  an 

[254] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

insatiable  bad  disease  ;  if  such  shall  attempt  to  gov- 
ern, and  at  the  same  time  to  trample  on  all  laws, 
there  can  be  no  means  of  preservation  left  for  the 
wretched  people."  Plato  de  Leg.,  lib.  iv.  p.  713,  c. 
714,  edit.  Serrani. 

It  is  true  that  Plato  is  here  treating  of  the  highest 
or  sovereign  power  in  a  state,  but  it  is  as  true  that 
his  observations  are  general  and  may  be  applied  to 
all  inferior  powers  ;  and,  indeed,  every  subordinate 
degree  is  immediately  derived  from  the  highest ;  and, 
as  it  is  equally  protected  by  the  same  force  and  sanc- 
tified by  the  same  authority,  is  alike  dangerous  to 
the  well-being  of  the  subject. 

Of  all  powers,  perhaps,  there  is  none  so  sanctified 
and  protected  as  this  which  is  under  our  present  con- 
sideration. So  numerous,  indeed,  and  strong,  are  the 
sanctions  given  to  it  by  many  acts  of  parliament,  that, 
having  once  established  the  laws  of  customs  on  mer- 
chandize, it  seems  to  have  been  the  sole  view  of  the 
legislature  to  strengthen  the  hands  and  to  protect 
the  persons  of  the  officers  who  became  established  by 
those  laws,  many  of  whom  are  so  far  from  bearing 
any  resemblance  to  the  Saturnian  institution,  and  to 
be  chosen  from  a  degree  of  beings  superior  to  the 
rest  of  human  race,  tliat  they  sometimes  seem  indus- 
triously picked  out  of  the  lowest  and  vilest  orders  of 
mankind. 

There  is,  indeed,  nothing  so  useful  to  man  in  gen- 
eral, nor  so  beneficial  to  particular  societies  and  indi- 
viduals, as  trade.  This  is  that  alma  mater  at  whose 
plentiful  breast  all  mankind  are  nourished.  It  is 
true,  like  other  parents,  she  is   not  always  equally 

[235  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

indulgent  to  all  her  children,  but,  though  slie  gives 
to  her  favourites  a  vast  proportion  of  redundancy 
and  superfluity,  there  are  very  few  whom  she  refuses 
to  supply  with  the  conveniences,  and  none  with  the 
necessaries,  of  life. 

Such  a  benefactress  as  this  must  naturally  be  be- 
loved by  mankind  in  general ;  it  would  be  wonderful, 
thei'efore,  if  her  interest  was  not  considered  by  them, 
and  protected  from  the  fraud  and  violence  of  some 
of  her  rebellious  offspring,  who,  coveting  more  than 
their  share  or  more  than  she  thinks  proper  to  allow 
them,  are  daily  employed  in  meditating  mischief 
against  her,  and  in  endeavouring  to  steal  from  their 
brethren  those  shares  which  this  great  alma  mater 
had  allowed  them. 

At  length  our  governor  came  on  board,  and  about 
six  in  the  evening  we  weighed  anchor,  and  fell  down 
to  the  Nore,  whither  our  passage  was  extremely 
pleasant,  the  evening  being  very  delightful,  the  moon 
just  past  the  full,  and  both  wind  and  tide  favourable 
to  us. 

Tuesday^  July  2.  —  This  morning  we  again  set 
sail,  under  all  the  advantages  we  had  enjoyed  the 
evening  before.  This  day  we  left  the  shore  of  Essex 
and  coasted  along  Kent,  passing  by  the  pleasant 
island  of  Thanet,  which  is  an  island,  and  that  of 
Sheppy,  which  is  not  an  island,  and  about  three 
o'clock,  the  wind  being  now  full  in  our  teeth,  we 
came  to  an  anchor  in  the  Downs,  within  two  miles 
of  Deal.  —  My  wife,  having  suffered  intolerable  pain 
from  her  tooth,  again  renewed  her  resolution  of 
having  it  drawn,  and  another  surgeon  was  sent  for 

[^6] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

from  Deal,  but  with  no  better  success  than  the  for- 
mer. He  hkewise  declined  the  operation,  for  the 
same  reason  which  had  been  assigned  by  the  former : 
however,  such  was  her  resolution,  backed  with  pain, 
that  he  was  obliged  to  make  the  attempt,  which 
concluded  more  in  honour  of  his  judgment  than  of 
his  operation  :  for,  after  having  put  my  poor  wife  to 
inexpressible  torment,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  her 
tooth  in  statu  quo  ;  and  she  had  now  the  comfortable 
prospect  of  a  long  fit  of  pain,  which  might  have 
lasted  her  whole  voyage,  without  any  possibility  of 
relief. 

In  these  pleasing  sensations,  of  which  I  had  my 
just  share,  nature,  overcome  with  fatigue,  about 
eight  in  the  evening  resigned  her  to  rest  —  a  circum- 
stance which  would  have  given  me  some  happiness, 
could  I  have  known  how  to  employ  those  spirits 
which  were  I'aised  by  it ;  but,  xnifortunately  for  me, 
I  was  left  in  a  disposition  of  enjoying  an  agreeable 
hour  without  the  assistance  of  a  companion,  which 
has  always  appeared  to  me  necessary  to  such  enjoy- 
ment ;  my  daughter  and  her  companion  were  both 
retired  sea-sick  to  bed  ;  the  other  passengers  were  a 
rude  school-boy  of  fourteeii  years  old  and  an  illit- 
erate Portuguese  friar,  who  undei-stood  no  language 
but  his  own,  in  m  hich  I  had  not  the  least  smattering. 
The  captain  was  the  only  person  left  in  whose  con- 
versation I  might  indulge  myself;  but  unluckily, 
besides  a  total  ignorance  of  everything  in  the  world 
but  a  ship,  he  had  the  misfortune  of  being  so  deaf, 
that  to  make  him  hear,  I  will  not  say  understand, 
my  words,  I  must  run  the  risque  of  conveying  them 

[237] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

to  the  ears  of  my  wife,  who,  though  in  another  room 
(called,  I  think,  the  state-room  —  being,  indeed,  a 
most  stately  apartment,  capable  of  containing  one 
human  body  in  length,  if  not  very  tall,  and  three 
bodies  in  breadth),  lay  asleep  within  a  yard  of  me. 
In  this  situation  necessity  and  choice  were  one  and 
the  same  thing ;  the  captain  and  I  sat  down  together 
to  a  small  bowl  of  punch,  over  which  we  both  soon 
fell  fast  asleep,  and  so  concluded  the  evening. 

Wednesday^  Jidy  3.  —  This  morning  I  awaked  at ' 
four  o''clock,  for  my  distemper  seldom  suffered  me  to 
sleep  later.  I  presently  got  up,  and  had  the  pleasure 
of  enjoying  the  sight  of  a  tempestuous  sea  for  four 
hours  before  the  captain  was  stirring ;  for  he  loved 
to  indulge  himself  in  morning  slmnbers,  which  were 
attended  with  a  wind-music,  much  more  agreeable  to 
the  performers  than  to  the  hearers,  especially  such 
as  have,  as  I  had,  the  privilege  of  sitting  in  the 
orchestra.  At  eight  o'clock  the  captain  rose,  and 
sent  his  boat  on  shore.  I  ordered  my  man  likewise 
to  go  in  it,  as  my  distemper  was  not  of  that  kind 
which  entirely  deprives  us  of  appetite.  Now,  though 
the  captain  had  well  victualled  his  ship  w'ith  all 
manner  of  salt  provisions  for  the  voyage,  and  had 
added  great  quantities  of  fresh  stores,  particularly  of 
vegetables,  at  Gravesend,  such  as  beans  and  peas, 
which  had  been  on  board  only  two  days,  and  had 
possibly  not  been  gathered  above  two  more,  I  ap- 
prehended I  could  pi'ovide  better  for  myself  at  Deal 
than  the  ship's  ordinary  seemed  to  promise.  I  ac- 
cordingly sent  for  fresh  provisions  of  all  kinds  from 
the  shore,  in  order  to  put  off"  the  evil  day  of  starving 

[  238  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

as  long  as  possible.  My  man  returned  with  most  of 
the  articles  I  sent  for,  and  I  now  thought  myself  in 
a  condition  of  living  a  week  on  my  own  provisions. 
I  therefore  ordered  my  own  dinner,  which  I  wanted 
nothing  but  a  cook  to  dress  and  a  proper  lire  to 
dress  it  at ;  but  those  were  not  to  be  had,  nor  indeed 
any  addition  to  my  roast  mutton,  except  the  pleasure 
of  the  captain's  con^.pany,  with  that  of  the  other 
passengers  ;  for  my  wife  continued  the  whole  day  in 
a  state  of  dozing,  and  my  other  females,  whose  sick- 
ness did  not  abate  by  the  rolling  of  the  ship  at  an- 
chor, seemed  more  inclined  to  empty  their  stomachs 
than  to  fill  them.  Thus  I  passed  the  whole  day 
(except  about  an  hour  at  dinner)  by  myself,  and  the 
evening  concluded  Avith  the  captain  as  the  preceding 
one  had  done  ;  one  comfortable  piece  of  news  he 
connnunicated  to  me,  which  was,  that  he  had  no 
doubt  of  a  prosperous  wind  in  the  morning  ;  but  as 
he  did  not  divulge  the  reasons  of  this  confidence, 
and  as  I  saw  none  myself  besides  the  wind  being 
directly  opposite,  my  faith  in  this  prophecy  was  not 
strong  enough  to  build  any  great  hopes  upon. 

Thursday^  July  4.  —  This  morning,  however,  the 
captain  seemed  I'esolved  to  fulfil  his  own  predictions, 
whether  the  wind  would  or  no  ;  he  accordingly 
weiglied  anchor,  and,  taking  the  advantage  of  the  tide 
when  the  wind  was  not  very  boisterous,  he  hoisted  his 
sails ;  and,  as  if  his  power  had  been  no  less  absolute 
over  VEolus  than  it  was  over  Neptune,  he  forced  the 
wind  to  blow  him  on  in  its  own  despight. 

But  as  all  men  who  have  ever  been  at  sea  well 
know  how   weak   such  attempts  are,  and   w^ant    no 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

auLhorities  of  Scripture  to  prove  that  the  most 
absoUito  power  of  a  captain  of  a  ship  is  very  con- 
temptible in  the  wind's  eye,  so  did  it  befal  our  noble 
conunander,  who,  having  struggled  with  the  wind 
three  or  four  hours»  was  obliged  to  give  over,  and 
lost  in  a  few  minutes  all  that  he  hacl  been  so  long 
a-gaining;  in  short,  we  returned  to  our  former  station, 
and  once  more  cast  anchor  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Deal. 

Here,  though  we  lay  near  the  shore,  that  we  might 
promise  ourselves  all  the  emolument  which  could  be 
derived  from  it,  we  found  ourselves  deceived;  and  that 
we  might  with  as  much  conveniency  be  out  of  the 
sight  of  land  ;  for,  except  when  the  captain  launched 
forth  his  own  boat,  which  he  did  always  with  great 
reluctance,  we  were  incapable  of  procuring  anything 
from  Deal,  but  at  a  price  too  exorbitant,  and  beyond 
the  reach  even  of  modern  luxury  —  the  fair  of  a  boat 
from  Deal,  which  lay  at  two  miles'  distance,  being  at 
least  three  half-cTOwns,  and,  if  we  had  been  in  any 
distress  for  it,  as  many  half-guineas ;  for  these  good 
people  consider  the  sea  as  a  large  common  appendant 
to  their  manor,  in  which  when  they  find  any  of  their 
fellow-creatures  impounded,  they  conclude  that  they 
have  a  full  right  of  making  them  pay  at  their  own 
discretion  for  their  deliverance  :  to  say  the  truth, 
whether  it  be  that  men  who  live  on  the  sea-shore  are 
of  an  amphibious  kind,  and  do  not  entirely  partake 
of  human  nature,  or  whatever  else  may  be  the  reason, 
they  arc  so  far  from  taking  any  share  in  the  distresses 
of  mankind,  or  of  being  moved  with  any  compassion 
for  thein,  that  they  look   upon  them  as   blessings 

[240] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

showered  down  from  above,  and  which  the  more  they 
improve  to  their  own  use,  the  greater  is  their  gratitude 
and  piety.  Thus  at  Gravesend  a  sculler  requires  a 
shilling  for  going  less  way  than  he  would  row  in 
London  for  threepence ;  and  at  Deal  a  boat  often 
brings  more  profit  in  a  day  than  it  can  produce  in 
London  in  a  week,  or  perhaps  in  a  month  ;  in  both 
places  the  owner  of  the  boat  founds  his  demand  on 
the  necessity  and  distress  of  one  who  stands  more  or 
less  in  absolute  want  of  his  assistance,  and  with  the 
urgency  of  these  always  rises  in  the  exorbitancy  of 
his  demand,  without  ever  considering  that,  from 
these  very  circumstances,  the  power  or  ease  of  grati- 
fying such  demand  is  in  like  proportion  lessened. 
Now,  as  I  am  unwilling  that  some  conclusions,  which 
may  be,  I  am  aware,  too  justly  drawn  from  these 
observations,  should  be  imputed  to  human  nature  in 
general,  I  have  endeavoured  to  account  for  them  in 
a  way  more  consistent  with  the  goodness  and  dignity 
of  that  nature.  However  it  be,  it  seems  a  little  to 
reflect  on  the  governors  of  such  monsters  that  they 
do  not  take  some  means  to  restrain  these  impositions, 
and  prevent  them  from  triumphing  any  longer  in 
the  miseries  of  those  who  are,  in  many  circumstances 
at  least,  their  fellow-creatures,  and  considering  the 
distresses  of  a  wretched  seaman,  from  his  beinar 
wrecked  to  his  being  barely  wind-bound,  as  a  blessing 
sent  among  them  from  above,  and  calling  it  by  that 
blasphemous  name. 

Friday,  July  5.  —  This  day  I  sent  a  servant  on 
boai'd  a  man-of-war  that  was  stationed  here,  with 
my  compliments  to  the  captain,  to  represent  to  him 
TOL.  I.  — 16  [  241  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

the  distress  of  the  ladies,  and  to  desire  the  favour  of 
his  long-boat  to  conduct  us  to  Dover,  at  about  seven 
miles"' distance ;  and  at  the  same  time  presumed  to 
make  use  of  a  great  lady's  name,  the  wife  of  the  first 
lord  conmiissioner  of  the  admiralty,  who  would,  I 
told  him,  be  pleased  with  any  kindness  shewn  by 
him  towards  us  in  our  miserable  condition.  And 
this  I  am  convinced  was  true,  from  the  humanity 
of  the  lady,  though  she  was  entirely  unknown 
to  me. 

The  captain  returned  a  verbal  answer  to  a  long 
letter  acquainting  me  that  what  I  desired  could  not 
be  complied  with,  it  being  a  fjivour  not  in  his  power 
to  grant.  This  might  be,  and  I  suppose  was,  true  ; 
but  it  is  as  true  that,  if  he  was  able  to  write,  and 
had  pen,  ink,  and  paper  on  board,  he  might  have 
sent  a  written  answer,  and  that  it  was  the  part  of 
a  gentleman  so  to  have  done  ;  but  this  is  a  charac- 
ter seldom  maintained  on  the  watery  element,  espe- 
cially by  those  who  exercise  any  power  on  it.  E^ery 
commander  of  a  vessel  here  seems  to  think  himself 
entirely  free  from  all  those  rules  of  decency  and  civ- 
ility which  direct  and  restrain  the  conduct  of  the 
members  of  a  society  on  shore ;  and  each,  claiming 
absolute  dominion  in  his  little  wooden  world,  rules 
by  his  own  laws  and  his  own  discretion.  I  do  not, 
indeed,  know  so  pregnant  an  instance  of  the  danger- 
ous consequences  of  absolute  power,  and  its  aptness 
to  intoxicate  the  mind,  as  that  of  those  petty  tv- 
rants,  who  become  such  in  a  moment,  from  very 
well-disposed  and  social  members  of  that  communion 
in  which  they  affect  no  supei'iority,  but  live  in  an 

[  242  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

orderly  state   of  legal   subjection  with  their  fellow- 
citizens. 

Saturday,  July  6.  — This  morning  our  commander, 
declaring  he  was  sure  the  wind  would  change,  took 
the  advantage  of  an  ebbing  tide,  and  weighed  his 
anchor.  His  assurance,  however,  had  the  same  com- 
pletion, and  his  endeavours  the  same  success,  with 
his  formal  trial ;  and  he  was  soon  obliged  to  return 
once  more  to  his  old  quarters.  Just  before  we  let 
go  our  anchor,  a  small  sloop,  rather  than  submit  to 
jield  us  an  inch  of  way,  ran  foul  of  our  ship,  and 
carried  off  her  bowsprit.  This  obstinate  frolic  would 
have  cost  those  aboard  the  sloop  very  dear,  if  our 
steersman  had  not  been  too  generous  to  exert  his 
superiority,  the  certain  consequence  of  which  woidd 
have  been  the  inunediate  sinking  of  tlie  other.  This 
contention  of  the  inferior  with  a  might  capable  of 
crushing  it  in  an  instant  may  seem  to  argue  no  small 
share  of  folly  or  madness,  as  well  as  of  impudence ; 
but  I  am  convinced  there  is  very  little  danger  in  it : 
contempt  is  a  port  to  which  the  pride  of  man  sub- 
mits to  fly  with  reluctance,  but  those  who  are  within 
it  are  always  in  a  place  of  the  most  assured  security  ; 
for  whosoever  throws  away  his  sword  prefers,  indeed, 
a  less  honourable  but  much  safer  means  of  avoiding 
dancer  than  he  who  defends  himself  with  it.  And 
here  we  shall  offer  another  distinction,  of  the  truth 
of  which  much  reading  and  experience  have  well 
convinced  us,  that  as  in  the  most  absolute  govern- 
ments there  is  a  regular  progression  of  slavery  down- 
wards, from  the  top  to  the  bottom,  tlie  mischief  of 
wliich  is  seldom  felt  with  iinv  great  force  and  bitter- 

[  243*] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ness  but  by  the  next  immediate  degree  ;  so  in  the 
most  dissolute  and  anarchical  states  there  is  as  rejj- 
ular  an  ascent  of  what  is  called  rank  or  condition, 
which  is  always  laying  hold  of  the  head  of  him  who 
is  advanced  but  one  step  higher  on  the  ladder,  who 
nn'ght,  if  he  did  not  too  much  despise  such  efforts, 
kick  his  pursuer  headlong  to  the  bottom.  We  will 
conclude  this  digression  with  one  general  and  short 
observation,  which  will,  perhaps,  set  the  whole  mat- 
ter in  a  clearer  light  than  the  longest  and  most 
laboured  harangue.  Whereas  envy  of  all  things 
most  exposes  us  to  danger  from  others,  so  contempt 
of  all  things  best  secures  us  from  them.  And  thus, 
while  the  dung-cart  and  the  sloop  are  always  medi- 
tating mischief  against  the  coach  and  the  ship,  and 
throwing  themselves  designedly  in  their  way,  the 
latter  consider  only  their  own  security,  and  are  not 
ashamed  to  break  the  road  and  let  the  other  pass  by 
them. 

Monday^  July  8.  —  Having  past  our  Sunday  with- 
out anything  remarkable,  unless  the  catching  a  great 
number  of  whitings  in  the  afternoon  may  be  thought 
so,  we  now  set  sail  on  Monday  at  six  o''clock,  with  a 
little  variation  of  wind  ;  but  this  was  so  very  little, 
and  the  breeze  itself  so  small,  that  the  tide  was  our 
best  and  indeed  almost  our  only  friend.  This  con- 
ducted us  along  the  short  remainder  of  the  Kentish 
shore.  Here  we  past  that  cliff  of  Dover  which 
makes  so  tremendous  a  figure  in  Shakspeare,  and 
which  whoever  reads  without  being  giddy,  must, 
according  to  Mr.  Addison's  observation,  have  either 
a  very  good  head  or  a  very  bad  one  ;   but  which, 

[244] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

whoevei'  contracts  any  such  ideas  from  the  sight  of^ 
must  have  at  least  a  poetic  if  not  a  Shaksperiaii 
genius.  In  truth,  mountains,  rivers,  heroes,  and 
gods  owe  great  part  of  their  existence  to  the  poets  : 
and  Greece  and  Italy  do  so  plentifully  abound  in 
the  former,  because  they  furnish  so  glorious  a  num- 
ber of  the  latter ;  who,  while  they  bestowed  inmior- 
tality  on  every  little  hillock  and  blind  stream,  left 
the  noblest  rivers  and  mountains  in  the  world  to 
share  the  same  obscurity  with  the  eastern  and  west- 
ern poets,  in  which  they  are  celebrated. 

This  evening  we  beat  the  sea  of  Sussex  in  sight  of 
Dungeness,  with  much  more  pleasure  than  progress  ; 
for  the  weather  was  almost  a  perfect  calm,  and  the 
moon,  which  was  almost  at  the  full,  scarce  suffered  a 
single  cloud  to  veil  her  from  our  sight. 

Tuesday,  Wednesday,  July  9,  10.  —  These  two  days 
we  had  much  the  same  fine  weather,  and  made  much 
the  same  way  ;  but  in  the  evening  of  the  latter  day  a 
pretty  fresh  gale  sprung  up  at  N.N.W.,  which  brought 
us  by  the  morning  in  sight  of  the  Isle  of  Wight. 

Thursday,  July  11. — This  gale  continued  till 
towards  noon  ;  when  the  east  end  of  the  island  bore 
but  little  ahead  of  us.  The  captain  swaggered  and 
declared  he  would  keep  the  sea;  but  the  wind  got 
the  better  of  him,  so  that  about  three  he  gave  up  the 
victory,  and  making  a  sudden  tack  stood  in  for  the 
shore,  passed  by  Spithead  and  Portsmouth,  and  came 
to  an  anchor  at  a  place  called  Ryde  on  the  island. 

A  most  tragical  incident  fell  out  this  day  at  sea. 
AVhile  the  ship  was  under  sail,  but  making  as  will 
appear  no  great  way,  a  kitten,  one  of  four  of  the 

[  245  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

feline  inhabitants  of  the  cabin,  fell  from  the  window 
into  the  water :  an  alarm  was  immediately  given  to 
the  captain,  who  was  then  upon  deck,  and  received 
it  with  the  utmost  concern  and  many  bitter  oaths. 
He  immediately  gave  orders  to  the  steersman  in  favour 
of  the  poor  thing,  as  he  called  it ;  the  sails  were 
instantly  slackened,  and  all  hands,  as  the  phrase  is, 
employed  to  recover  the  poor  animal.  I  was,  I  own, 
extremely  surprised  at  all  this  ;  less  indeed  at  the 
captain's  extreme  tenderness  than  at  his  conceiving 
any  possibility  of  success  ;  for  if  puss  had  had  nine 
thousand  instead  of  nine  lives,  I  concluded  they  had 
been  all  lost.  The  boatswain,  however,  had  more 
sanguine  hopes,  for,  having  stripped  himself  of  his 
jacket,  breeches,  and  shirt,  he  leaped  boldly  into  the 
water,  and  to  my  great  astonishment  in  a  few  minutes- 
returned  to  the  ship,  bearing  the  motionless  animal  in 
his  mouth.  Nor  was  this,  I  observed,  a  matter  of 
such  great  difficulty  as  it  appeared  to  my  ignorance, 
and  possibly  may  seem  to  that  of  my  fresh- water 
reader.  The  kitten  was  now  exposed  to  air  and 
sun  on  the  deck,  where  its  life,  of  which  it  retained 
no  symptoms,  was  despaired  of  by  all. 

The  caj)tain''s  humanity,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  did 
not  so  totally  destroy  his  philosophy  as  to  make  him 
yield  himself  up  to  affliction  on  this  melancholy  occa- 
sion. Having  felt  his  loss  like  a  man,  he  resolved  to 
shew  he  could  bear  it  like  one  ;  and,  having  declared 
he  had  rather  have  lost  a  cask  of  rum  or  brandy, 
betook  himself  to  threshing  at  backgammon  with  the 
Portuguese  friar,  in  which  innocent  amusement  they 
had  passed  about  two-thirds  of  their  time. 

[246] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

But  as  I  have,  perhaps,  a  little  too  wantonly  en- 
deavoured to  raise  the  tender  passions  of  my  readers 
in  this  narrative,  I  should  think  myself  unpardonable 
if  I  concluded  it  without  giving  them  the  satisfaction 
of  hearing  that  the  kitten  at  last  recovered,  to  the 
o-reat  joy  of  the  good  captain,  but  to  the  great  dis- 
appointment of  some  of  the  sailors,  who  asserted 
that  the  drowning  a  cat  was  the  very  surest  way  of 
raising  a  favourable  wind ;  a  supposition  of  which, 
though  we  have  heard  several  plausible  accounts,  we 
will  not  presume  to  assign  the  true  original  reason. 

Friday,  Juhj  12.  —  This  day  our  ladies  went  ashore 
at  Ryde,  and  drank  their  afternoon  tea  at  an  ale-house 
there  with  great  satisfaction  :  here  they  were  regaled 
with  fresh  cream,  to  winch  they  had  been  strangers 
since  they  left  the  Downs. 

Saturday,  Jidy  13. — The  wind  seeming  likely  to 
continue  in  the  same  corner  where  it  had  been  almost 
constantly  for  two  months  together,  I  was  persuaded 
by  my  wife  to  go  ashore  and  stay  at  Ryde  till  we 
sailed.  I  approved  the  motion  much  ;  for  though  I 
am  a  ereat  lover  of  the  sea,  I  now  fancied  there  was 
more  pleasure  in  breathing  the  fresh  air  of  the  land  ; 
but  liow  to  get  thither  was  tlie  question  ;  for,  being 
really  that  dead  luggage  which  I  considered  all  pas- 
sengers to  be  in  the  beginning  of  this  narrative,  and 
incapable  of  any  bodily  motion  without  external  im- 
pulse, it  was  in  vain  to  leave  the  ship,  or  to  deter- 
mine to  do  it,  without  the  assistance  of  others.  In  one 
instance,  perhaps,  the  living  luggage  is  more  diHicult 
to  be  moved  or  removed  than  an  e(}ual  or  much  su- 
perior weight  of  dead  matter ;  wliich,  if  of  the  brittle 

[247] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

kind,  may  indeed  be  liable  to  be  broken  through 
negligence ;  but  this,  by  proper  care,  may  be  almost 
certainly  prevented  ;  whereas  the  fractures  to  which 
the  living  lumps  are  exposed  are  sometimes  by  no  cau- 
tion avoidable,  and  often  by  no  art  to  be  amended, 

I  was  deliberating  on  the  means  of  conveyance, 
not  so  much  out  of  the  ship  to  the  boat  as  out  of  a 
little  tottering  boat  to  the  land  ;  a  matter  which,  as 
I  had  already  experienced  in  the  Thames,  was  not 
extremely  easy,  when  to  be  performed  by  any  other 
limbs  than  your  own.  Whilst  I  weighed  all  that 
could  suggest  itself  on  this  head,  without  strictly 
examinins  the  merit  of  the  several  schemes  which 
were  advanced  by  the  captain  and  sailors,  and,  in- 
deed, giving  no  very  deep  attention  even  to  my  wife, 
who, .  as  well  as  her  friend  and  my  daughter,  were 
exerting  their  tender  concern  for  my  ease  and  safety, 
Fortune,  for  I  am  convinced  she  had  a  hand  in  it, 
sent  me  a  present  of  a  buck  ;  a  present  welcome 
enough  of  itself,  but  more  welcome  on  account  of 
the  vessel  in  which  it  came,  being  a  large  hoy,  which 
in  some  places  would  pass  for  a  ship,  and  many 
people  would  go  some  miles  to  see  the  sight.  I  was 
pretty  easily  conveyed  on  board  this  hoy  ;  but  to 
get  from  hence  to  the  shore  was  not  so  easy  a  task ; 
for,  however  strange  it  may  appear,  the  water  itself 
did  not  extend  so  far ;  an  instance  which  seems  to 
explain  those  lines  of  Ovid, 

Omnia  pontus  erant,  deerant  quoque  littora  ponto, 

in  a  less  tautological  sense  than  hath  generally  been 
imputed  to  them. 

[248] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

In  fact,  between  the  sea  and  the  shore  there  was, 
at  low  water,  an  impassable  gulph,  if  I  may  so  call 
it,  of  deep  n)ud,  whicli  could  neither  be  traversed  by 
walking  nor  swimming  ;  so  that  for  near  one  half 
of  the  twenty-four  hours  Ryde  was  inaccessible  by 
friend  or  foe.  But  as  the  magistrates  of  this  place 
seemed  more  to  desire  the  company  of  the  former 
than  to  fear  that  of  the  latter,  they  had  begun  to 
make  a  small  causeway  to  the  low-water  mark,  so 
that  foot  passengers  might  land  whenever  they 
pleased  ;  but  as  this  work  was  of  a  public  kind,  and 
would  have  cost  a  large  sum  of  money,  at  least  ten 
pounds,  and  the  magistrates,  that  is  to  say,  the 
churchwardens,  the  overseers,  constable,  and  tithing- 
man,  and  the  principal  inhabitants,  had  every  one  of 
them  some  separate  scheme  of  private  interest  to  ad- 
vance at  the  expence  of  the  public,  they  fell  out 
among  themselves ;  and,  after  having  thrown  away 
one  half  of  the  requisite  sum,  resolved  at  least  to 
save  the  other  half,  and  rather  be  contented  to  sit 
down  losers  themselves  than  to  enjoy  any  benefit 
which  might  bring  in  a  greater  profit  to  another. 
Thus  that  unanin)ity  which  is  so  necessary  in  all 
public  affairs  became  wanting,  and  every  man,  from 
the  fear  of  being  a  bubble  to  anothei-,  was,  in  reality, 
a  bubble  to  himself. 

However,  as  there  is  scarce  any  difficulty  to  which 
the  strength  of  men,  assisted  with  the  cunning  of 
art,  is  not  equal,  I  was  at  last  hoisted  into  a  small 
boat,  and,  being  rowed  pretty  near  the  shore,  was 
taken  up  by  two  sailors,  who  waded  with  me  through 
the  mud,  and  placed   me  in  a  chair  on   the  land, 

[249] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

whence  they  afterwards  conveyed  me  a  cjuarter  of 
a  mile  farther,  and  brought  me  to  a  liouse  which 
seemed  to  bid  the  fairest  for  hospitahtv  of  any  in 

Ryde. 

We  brought  with  us  our  provisions  from  the  ship, 
so  that  we  wanted  nothing  but  a  fire  to  dress  our 
dinner,  and  a  room  in  which  we  might  eat  it.  In 
neither  of  these  had  we  any  reason  to  apprehend  a 
disappointment,  our  dinner  consisting  only  of  beans 
and  bacon  ;  and  the  worst  apartment  in  his  majesty's 
dominions,  cither  at  home  or  abroad,  being  fully 
sufficient  to  answer  our  present  ideas  of  delicacv. 

Unluckily,  however,  we  were  disappointed  in  both  ; 
for  when  we  arrived  about  four  at  our  inn,  exultina: 
in  the  hopes  of  innnediately  seeing  our  beans  smoking 
on  the  table,  we  had  the  mortification  of  seeing  them 
on  the  table  indeed,  but  without  that  circumstance 
which  would  ha\e  m.ule  the  sight  agreeable,  being 
in  the  same  state  in  which  we  had  dispatched  them 
fi'om  our  ship. 

In  excuse  for  this  delay,  though  we  had  exceeded, 
almost  purposely,  the  time  appointed,  and  our  pro- 
vision had  arrived  three  hours  before,  the  mistress  of 
the  house  acquainted  us  that  it  was  not  for  want  of 
time  to  dress  them  that  they  were  not  ready,  but  foi- 
fear  of  their  being  cold  oi-  overdone  befoie  we  should 
come ;  which  she  assured  us  w  ;is  much  worse  than 
waiting  a  few  minutes  for  our  dinner;  an  observation 
so  very  just,  that  it  is  impossible  to  find  any  objec- 
tion in  it ;  but,  indeed,  it  was  not  altogether  so 
pro[)er  at  this  time,  for  we  had  given  the  most  abso- 
lute orders  to  have  them  ready  at  four,  and  had  been 

[  2.50  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ourselves,  not  without  much  care  and  difficulty,  most 
exactly  punctual  in  keeping  to  the  very  minute  of 
our  appointment.  But  tradesmen,  inn-keepers,  and 
servants,  never  care  to  indulge  us  in  matters  contrary 
to  our  true  interest,  which  they  always  know  better 
than  ourselves  ;  nor  can  any  bribes  cornipt  them  to 
go  out  of  their  way  whilst  they  are  consulting  our 
good,  in  our  own  despight. 

Our  disappointment  in  the  other  particular,  in  de- 
fiance of  our  humility,  as  it  was  more  extraordinary, 
was  more  provoking.  In  short,  Mrs.  Francis  (for 
that  was  the  name  of  the  good  woman  of  the  house) 
no  sooner  received  the  news  of  our  intended  arrival 
than  she  considered  more  the  gentility  than  the 
humanity  of  her  guests,  and  applied  herself  not  to 
that  which  kindles  but  to  that  which  extinguishes 
fire,  and,  forgetting  to  put  on  her  pot,  fell  to  wash- 
ins  her  house. 

As  the  messenger  who  had  brought  my  venison 
was  impatient  to  be  despatched,  I  ordered  it  to  be 
brought  and  laid  on  the  table  in  the  room  where  I 
was  seated ;  and  the  table  not  being  large  enough, 
one  side,  and  that  a  very  bloody  one,  was  laid  on  the 
brick  floor.  I  then  ordered  Mrs.  Francis  to  be  called 
in,  in  order  to  give  her  instructions  concerning  it ; 
in  particular,  wliat  I  would  have  roasted  and  what 
baked  ;  concluding  that  she  would  be  highly  pleased 
with  the  prospect  of  so  much  money  being  spent  in 
her  house  as  she  miglit  have  now  reason  to  expect,  if 
the  wind  continued  only  a  few  days  longer  to  blow 
from  the  same  points  whence  it  had  blown  for  several 
weeks  past. 

[  251  1 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

I  soon  saw  good  cause,  I  must  confess,  to  despise 
my  own  sagacity.  Mrs.  Francis,  having  received  her 
orders,  without  making  any  answer,  snatched  the  side 
from  the  floor,  which  remained  stained  with  blood, 
and,  bidding  a  servant  to  take  up  that  on  the  table, 
left  the  room  with  no  pleasant  countenance,  mutter- 
ing to  herself  that,  "  had  she  known  the  litter  which 
was  to  have  been  made,  she  would  not  have  taken 
such  pains  to  wash  her  house  that  morning.  If  this 
was  gentility,  much  good  may  it  do  such  gentlefolks  ; 
for  her  part  she  had  no  notion  of  it." 

From  these  murmurs  I  received  two  hints.  The 
one,  that  it  was  not  from  a  mistake  of  our  inclination 
that  the  good  woman  had  starved  us,  but  from  wisely 
consulting  her  own  dignity,  or  rather  perhaps  her 
vanity,  to  which  our  hunger  was  offered  up  as  a  sacri- 
fice. The  other,  that  I  was  now  sitting  in  a  damp 
room,  a  ciix'umstance,  though  it  had  hitherto  escaped 
my  notice  from  the  colour  of  the  bricks,  which  was 
by  no  means  to  be  neglected  in  a  valetudinary  state. 

My  wife,  who,  besides  discharging  excellently  well 
her  own  and  all  the  tender  offices  becoming  the  fe- 
male character ;  who,  besides  being  a  faithful  friend, 
an  amiable  companion,  and  a  tender  nurse,  could 
likewise  supply  the  wants  of  a  decrepit  husband, 
and  occasionally  perform  his  part,  had,  before  this, 
discovered  the  innnoderate  attention  to  neatness  in 
Mrs.  Francis,  and  provided  against  its  ill  consequences. 
She  had  found,  though  not  under  the  same  roof,  a 
very  snug  apartment  belonging  to  Mr.  Francis,  and 
which  had  escaped  the  mop  by  his  wife's  being  sat- 
isfied it  could  not  possibly  be  visited  by  gentlefolks. 

[252] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

This  was  a,  dry,  warm,  oaken-floored  barn,  lined 
on  both  sides  with  wheaten  straw,  and  opening  at 
one  end  into  a  green  field  and  a  beautiful  prospect. 
Here,  without  hesitation,  she  ordered  the  cloth  to  be 
laid,  and  came  hastily  to  snatch  me  from  worse  perils 
by  water  than  the  common  dangers  of  the  sea. 

Mrs.  Francis,  who  could  not  trust  her  own  ears, 
or  could  not  believe  a  footman  in  so  extraordinary  a 
phenomenon,  followed  my  wife,  and  asked  her  if  she 
had  indeed  ordered  the  cloth  to  be  laid  in  the  barn  ? 
She  answered  in  the  affirmative  ;  upon  which  iNIrs. 
Francis  declared  she  would  not  dispute  her  pleasure, 
but  it  was  the  first  time  she  believed  that  quality 
had  ever  preferred  a  barn  to  a  house.  She  shev.ed 
at  the  same  time  the  most  pregnant  marks  of  con- 
tempt, and  again  lamented  the  labour  she  had  under- 
gone, through  her  ignorance  of  the  absurd  taste  of 
her  guests. 

At  length,  we  were  seated  in  one  of  the  most 
pleasant  spots  I  believe  in  the  kingdom,  and  Mere 
regaled  with  our  beans  and  bacon,  in  which  there 
was  nothing  deficient  but  the  quantity.  This  defect 
was  however  so  deplorable  that  we  had  consumed  our 
whole  dish  before  -^e  had  visibly  lessened  our  hunger. 
We  now  waited  with  impatience  the  arrival  of  our 
second  course,  which  necessity,  and  not  luxury,  had 
dictated.  This  was  a  joint  of  mutton  which  Mrs. 
Francis  had  been  ordered  to  provide ;  but  when, 
being  tired  with  expectation,  we  ordered  our  ser- 
vants to  see  for  something  else,  we  were  infoi-med  that 
there  was  nothing  else  ;  on  which  Mrs.  Francis,  bein"- 
summoned,  declared  there  was  no  such  thing  as  mut- 

[  253  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ton  to  be  had  at  Hyde.  When  I  expressed  some 
astonishment  at  their  having  no  butcher  in  a  village 
so  situated,  she  answered  they  had  a  very  good  one, 
and  one  that  killed  all  sorts  of  meat  in  season,  beef 
two  or  three  times  a  year,  and  mutton  the  whole 
year  round  ;  but  that,  it  being  then  beans  and  peas 
time,  he  killed  no  meat,  by  I'eason  he  was  not  sure 
of  selling  it.  This  she  had  not  thought  worthy  of 
communication,  any  more  than  that  there  lived  a 
fisherman  at  next  door,  who  was  then  provided  with 
plenty  of  soles,  and  whitings,  and  lobsters,  far  su- 
perior to  those  which  adorn  a  city  feast.  This  dis- 
covery being  made  by  accident,  we  completed  the 
best,  the  pleasantest,  and  the  merriest  meal,  with 
more  appetite,  more  real  solid  luxury,  and  more 
festivity,  than  was  ever  seen  in  an  entertainment  at 
White\s. 

It  may  be  wondered  at,  perhaps,  that  Mrs.  Francis 
should  be  so  negligent  of  providing  for  her  guests, 
as  she  may  seem  to  be  thus  inattentive  to  her  own 
interest ;  but  this  was  not  the  case ;  for,  having 
clapped  a  poll-tax  on  our  heads  at  our  arrival,  and 
determined  at  what  price  to  discharge  our  bodies 
from  her  house,  the  less  she  suffered  any  other  to 
share  in  the  levy  the  clearer  it  came  into  her  own 
pocket ;  and  that  it  was  better  to  get  twelve  pence 
in  a  shilling  thau  ten  pence,  which  latter  would  be 
the  case  if  she  afforded  us  fish  at  any  rate. 

Thus  we  past  a  most  agreeable  day  owing  to 
good  appetites  and  good  humour  ;  two  hearty  feeders 
which  will  devour  with  satisfaction  whatever  food 
you  place  before  tliem  ;  \\  hereas,  without  these,  the 

[254] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

elegance  of  St.  James's,  the  charde,  the  perigordpie, 
or  the  ortolan,  the  venison,  the  turtle,  or  the  custard, 
may  titillate  the  throat,  but  will  never  convey  happi- 
ness to  the  heart  or  chearfulness  to  the  countenance. 

As  the  wind  appeared  still  immovable,  my  wife 
proposed  my  lying  on  shore.  I  presently  agreed, 
though  in  defiance  of  an  act  of  parliament,  by  which 
persons  wandering  abroad  and  lodging  in  ale-houses 
are  decreed  to  be  rogues  and  vagabonds ;  and  this 
too  after  having  been  very  singularly  officious  in 
putting  that  law  in  execution. 

My  wife,  having  reconnoitred  the  house,  reported 
that  there  was  one  room  in  which  were  two  beds.  It 
was  concluded,  therefore,  that  she  and  Harriot  should 
occupy  one  and  myself  take  possession  of  the  other. 
She  added  likewise  an  ingenious  recommendation  of 
this  room  to  one  who  had  so  long  been  in  a  cabin, 
which  it  exactly  resembled,  as  it  was  sunk  down  with 
age  on  one  side,  and  was  in  the  form  of  a  ship  with 
gunwales  too. 

For  my  own  part,  I  make  little  doubt  but  thiis 
apartment  was  an  ancient  temple,  built  with  the 
. materials  of  a  wreck,  and  probably  dedicated  to  Nep- 
tune in  honour  of  the  blessing  sent  by  him  to  the 
inhabitants;  such  blessings  having  in  all  ages  been 
very  common  to  them.  The  timber  employed  in  it 
confirms  this  opinion,  being  such  as  is  seldom  used 
by  any  but  ship-builders.  I  do  not  find  indeed  any 
mention  of  this  matter  in  I  learn  ;  but  perhaps  its 
antiquity  was  too  modern  to  deserve  his  notice.  Cer- 
tain it  is  that  this  island  of  Wight  was  not  an  early 
convert  to  Christianity  ;  nay,  there  is  some  reason  to 

[255  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

doubt  whether  it  was  ever  entirely  converted.  But 
I  have  only  time  to  touch  slightly  on  things  of  this 
kind,  which,  luckily  for  us,  we  have  a  society  whose 
peculiar  profession  it  is  to  discuss  and  develop. 

Siinday,  July  19. — This  morning  early  I  sum- 
moned Mrs.  Francis,  in  order  to  pay  her  the  preced- 
ing day's  account.  As  I  could  recollect  only  two  or 
three  articles  I  thought  there  was  no  necessity  of  pen 
and  ink.  In  a  single  instance  only  we  had  exceeded 
what  the  law  allows  gi-atis  to  a  foot-soldier  on  his 
march,  viz.,  vinegar,  salt,  &c.,  and  dressing  his  meat. 
I  found,  however,  I  was  mistaken  in  my  calculation  ; 
for  when  the  good  woman  attended  with  her  bill  it 

contained  as  follows  :  — 

£      *.     d. 

Bread  and  beer 0     2     4 

Wind 020 

Rum        020 

Dressing  dinner 0     3     0 

Tea 0     16 

Firing 010 

Lodging Ol6 

Servants'  lodging 0     0     6 

£0   13   10 

Now  that  five  people  and  two  servants  should  live 
a  day  and  night  at  a  public-house  for  so  small  a  sum 
will  appear  incredible  to  any  person  in  London  above 
the  degree  of  a  chimney-sweeper ;  but  more  astonish- 
ing will  it  seem  that  these  people  should  remain  so 
long  at  such  a  house  w-ithout  tasting  any  other  deli- 
cacy than  bread,  small  beer,  a  teacupfull  of  milk  called 
cream,  a  glass  of  rum  convei'ted  into  punch  by  their 

[256] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

own  materials,  and  one  bottle  of  xohidy  of  which  we 
only  tasted  a  single  glass,  though  possibly,  indeed, 
our  servants  drank  the  remainder  of  the  bottle. 

This  wind  is  a  liquor  of  English  manufacture,  and 
its  flavour  is  thought  very  delicious  by  the  general- 
ity of  the  English,  who  drink  it  in  great  quantities. 
Every  seventh  year  is  thought  to  produce  as  much 
as  the  other  six.  It  is  then  drank  so  plentifully 
that  the  whole  nation  are  in  a  manner  intoxicated 
by  it ;  and  conse;]uently  very  little  business  is  car- 
ried on  at  that  season. 

It  resembles  in  colour  the  red  wine  which  is  im- 
ported from  Portugal,  as  it  doth  in  its  intoxicating 
quality  ;  hence,  and  from  this  agreement  in  the  or- 
thography, the  one  is  ofteu  confounded  with  the 
other,  though  both  are  seldom  esteemed  by  the  same 
person.  It  is  to  be  had  in  every  parish  of  the  king- 
dom, and  a  pretty  large  quantity  is  consumed  in  the 
metropolis,  where  several  taverns  are  set  apart  solely 
for  the  vendition  of  this  liquor,  the  masters  never 
dealing  in  any  other. 

The  disagreement  in  our  computation  produced 
some  small  remonstrance  to  Mrs.  Francis  on  my 
side  ;  but  this  received  an  immediate  answer  :  "  She 
scorned  to  overcharge  gentlemen  ;  her  house  had 
been  always  frequented  by  the  very  best  gentry  of 
the  island  ;  and  she  had  never  had  a  bill  found  fault 
with  in  her  life,  though  she  had  lived  upwards  of 
forty  years  in  the  house,  and  within  that  time  the 
greatest  gentry  in  Hampshire  had  been  at  it  ;  and 
that  lawyer  Willis  never  went  to  any  other  when  he 
came  to  those  parts.  That  for  her  part  she  did  not 
VOL.  I.  — 17  [  257  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

get  her  livelihood  by  travellers,  who  were  gone  and 
away,  and  she  never  expected  to  see  them  more,  but 
that  her  neighbours  might  come  again  ;  wherefore, 
to  be  sure,  they  had  the  only  right  to  complain." 

She  was  proceeding  thus,  and  from  her  volubility 
of  tongue  seemed  likely  to  stretch  the  discourse  to 
an  immoderate  length,  when  I  suddenly  cut  all  short 
by  paying  the  bill. 

This  morning  our  ladies  went  to  church,  more, 
I  fear,  from  curiosity  than  religion  ;  they  were  at- 
tended by  the  captain  in  a  most  military  attire,  with 
his  cockade  in  his  hat  and  his  sword  by  his  side.  So 
unusual  an  appearance  in  this  little  chapel  drew  the 
attention  of  all  present,  and  probably  disconcerted 
the  women,  who  were  in  dishabille,  and  wished 
themselves  drest,  for  the  sake  of  the  curate,  who  was 
the  greatest  of  their  beholders. 

While  I  was  left  alone  I  received  a  visit  from  Mr. 
Francis  himself,  who  was  much  more  considerable  as 
a  farmer  than  as  an  inn-holder.  Indeed,  he  left  the 
latter  entirelv  to  the  care  of  his  wife,  and  he  acted 
wisely,  I  believe,  in  so  doing. 

As  nothing  more  remarkable  past  on  this  day  I 
will  close  it  with  the  account  of  these  two  characters, 
as  far  as  a  few  days'  residence  could  inform  me  of 
them.  If  they  should  appear  as  new  to  the  reader  as 
they  did  to  me,  he  will  not  be  displeased  at  finding 
them  here. 

This  amiable  couple  seemed  to  border  hard  on 
their  grand  climacteric ;  nor  indeed  were  they  shy  of 
owning  enough  to  fix  their  ages  within  a  vear  or  two 
of  that  time.     They  appeared  to  be  rather  proud  of 

[  258  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

having  employed  their  time  well  than  ashamed  of 
Jiaving  lived  so  long  ;  the  only  reason  which  I  could 
ever  assign  why  some  fine  ladies,  and  fine  gentlemen 
too,  should  desire  to  be  thought  younger  than  they 
really  are  by  the  contemporaries  of  their  grandchil- 
dren. Some,  indeed,  who  too  hastily  credit  appear- 
ances, might  doubt  whether  they  had  made  so  good 
a  use  of  their  time  as  I  would  insinuate,  since  there 
was  no  appearance  of  anything  but  poverty,  want, 
and  wretcliedness,  about  their  house  ;  nor  could  they 
produce  anything  to  a  customer  in  exchange  for  his 
money  but  a  few  bottles  of  wind^  and  spirituous 
liquors,  and  some  very  bad  ale,  to  drink  ;  with  rusty 
bacon  and  worse  cheese  to  eat.  But  then  it  should 
be  considered,  on  the  otlier  side,  that  whatever  they 
received  was  almost  as  entirely  clear  profit  as  the 
blessing  of  a  wreck  itself;  such  an  inn  being  the 
ver}'  reverse  of  a  coffee-house ;  for  here  you  can 
neither  sit  for  nothing  nor  have  anything  for  your 
money. 

Again,  as  many  marks  of  want  abounded  every- 
where, so  were  the  marks  of  antiquity  visible.  Scarce 
anything  was  to  be  seen  which  had  not  some  scar 
upon  it,  made  by  the  hand  of  Time ;  not  an  utensil, 
it  was  manifest,  had  been  purchased  within  a  dozen 
years  last  past ;  so  that  whatever  money  had  come 
into  the  house  during  that  period  at  least  must  have 
remained  in  it,  unless  it  had  been  sent  abroad  for 
food,  or  other  perishable  commodities  ;  but  these 
were  supplied  by  a  small  portion  of  the  fruits  of  the 
farm,  in  which  the  farmer  allowed  he  had  a  very 
good   bargain.       In   fact,   it   is    inconceivable    what 

[  259  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

sums  may  be  collected  by  starving  only,  and  how 
easy  it  is  for  a  man  to  die  rich  if  he  will  but  be 
contented  to  live  miserable. 

Nor  is  there  in  this  kind  of  starving  anything  so 
ternble  as  some  apprehend.  It  neither  wastes  a 
man's  flesh  nor  robs  him  of  his  chearfulness.  The 
famous  Cornaro's  case  well  proves  the  contrary ;  and 
so  did  farmer  Francis,  who  was  of  a  round  stature, 
had  a  plump  round  face,  with  a  kind  of  smile  on  it, 
and  seemed  to  borrow  an  air  of  wretchedness  rather 
from  his  coat's  age  than  from  his  own. 

The  truth  is^  there  is  a  certain  diet  which  ema- 
ciates men  more  than  any  possible  degree  of  absti- 
nence ;  though  I  do  not  remember  to  have  seen  any 
caution  against  it,  either  in  Cheney,  Arbuthnot,  or 
in  any  other  modern  writer  or  regimen.  Nay,  the 
very  name  is  not,  I  believe,  in  the  learned  Dr.  James's 
Dictionary ;  all  which  is  the  more  extraordinary  as 
it  is  a  very  common  food  in  this  kingdom,  and  the 
college  themselves  were  not  long  since  very  liberally 
entertained  with  it  by  the  present  attorney  and  other 
eminent  lawyers  in  Lincoln's-inn-hall,  and  were  all 
made  horribly  sick  by  it. 

But  though  it  should  not  be  found  among  our 
English  physical  writers,  we  may  be  assured  of  meet- 
ing with  it  among  the  Greeks ;  for  nothing  consid- 
erable in  natiu'e  escapes  their  notice,  though  many 
things  considerable  in  them,  it  is  to  be  feared,  have 
escaped  the  notice  of  their  readers.  The  Greeks, 
then,  to  all  such  as  feed  too  voraciously  on  this  diet, 
give  the  name  of  Heautofagi,  which  our  physicians 
will,  I  suppose,  translate  men  that  eat  themselves. 

[260] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

As  nothing  is  so  destructive  to  the  body  as  this 
kind  of  food,  so  nothing  is  so  plentiful  and  cheap ; 
but  it  was  perhaps  the  only  cheap  thing  the  farmer 
disliked.  Probably  living  much  on  fish  might  pro- 
duce this  disgust ;  for  Diodorus  Siculus  attributes 
the  same  aversion  in  a  people  of  ^Ethiopia  to  the 
same  cause  ;  he  calls  them  the  fish-eaters,  and  asserts 
that  they  cannot  be  brought  to  eat  a  single  meal 
with  the  Heautofagi  by  any  persuasion,  threat,  or 
violence  whatever,  not  even  though  they  should 
kill  their  children  before  their  faces. 

What  hath  puzzled  our  physicians,  and  prevented 
them  from  setting  this  matter  in  the  clearest  light, 
is  possibly  one  simple  mistake,  arising  from  a  very 
excusable  ignorance  ;  that  the  passions  of  men  are 
capable  of  swallowing  food  as  well  as  their  appe- 
tites ;  that  the  former,  in  feeding,  resemble  the  state 
of  those  animals  who  chew  the  cud  ;  and  therefore, 
such  men,  in  some  sense,  may  be  said  to  prey  on 
themselves,  and  as  it  were  to  devour  their  own  en- 
trails. And  hence  ensues  a  meagre  aspect  and  thin 
habit  of  body,  as  surely  as  from  what  is  called  a 
consumption. 

Our  farmer  was  one  of  these.  He  had  no  more 
passion  than  an  Ichthuofagus  or  ^Ethiopian  fisher. 
He  wished  not  for  anything,  thought  not  of  any- 
thing ;  indeed  he  scarce  did  anything  or  said  any- 
thing. Here  I  cannot  be  understood  strictly  ;  for 
then  I  must  describe  a  nonentitv,  whereas  I  would 
rob  him  of  notliing  but  that  free  agency  which  is 
the  cause  of  all  the  corruption  and  of  all  the  misery  of 
human  nature.     No  man,  indeed,  ever  did  more  than 

[261] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

the  farmer,  for  he  was  an  absohite  slave  to  labour  all 
the  week  ;  but  in  truth,  as  my  sagacious  reader  must 
have  at  first  apprelicndcd,  when  I  said  he  resigned 
the  care  of  the  house  to  his  wife,  I  meant  more  than 
I  then  expressed,  even  tlie  house  and  all  tliat  be- 
longed to  it  ;  for  he  was  really  a  fanner  only  under 
the  direction  of  liis  wife.  In  a  woi-d,  so  composed, 
so  serene,  so  placid  a  countenance,  I  never  saw  ;  and 
he  satisfied  himself  by  answering  to  every  question 
he  was  asked,  "  I  don't  know  anything  about  it,  sir  ; 
I  leaves  all  that  to  my  wife." 

Now,  as  a  couple  of  this  kind  would,  like  two 
vessels  of  oil,  have  made  no  composition  in  life,  and 
for  want  of  all  savour  must  have  palled  every  taste ; 
nature  or  fortune,  or  both  of  them,  took  care  to 
provide  a  proper  quantity  of  acid  in  the  materials 
that  formed  the  wife,  and  to  render  her  a  perfect 
helpmate  for  so  tranquil  a  husband.  She  abounded 
in  whatsoever  he  was  defective ;  that  is  to  say,  in 
almost  everything.  She  was  indeed  as  vinegai*  to  oil, 
or  a  brisk  wind  to  a  standing-pool,  and  preserved  all 
from  stagnation  and  corruption. 

Quin  the  player,  on  taking  a  nice  and  severe  survey 
of  a  fellow-comedian,  burst  forth  into  this  exclama- 
tion: — "  If  that  fellow  be  not  a  rogue,  God  Almighty 
doth  not  write  a  leo-ible  hand.""  Whether  he  suessed 
right  or  no  is  not  worth  my  while  to  examine  ;  certain 
it  is  that  the  latter,  having  wrought  his  features  into 
a  proper  harmony  to  become  the  characters  of  lago, 
Shylock,  and  others  of  the  same  cast,  gave  us  a 
semblance  of  truth  to  the  observation  that  was  suffi- 
cient  to  confirm   the   wit   of  it.     Indeed,   we    may 

[262] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

remark,  in  favour  of  the  physiognomist,  though  the 
law  has  made  him  a  rogue  and  vagabond,  that  Nature 
is  seldom  curious  in  her  woiks  within,  without  em- 
ploying some  little  pains  on  the  outside;  and  this  more 
particularly   in    mischievous    characters,   in    forming 
which,  as  Mr.  Derham  observes,  in  venomous  insects, 
as  the  sting  or  saw  of  a  wasp,  she  is  sometimes  won- 
derfully industrious.     Now,  m  hen  she  hath  thus  com- 
pletely armed  our  hero  to  carry  on  a  war  with  man, 
she  never  fails  of  furnishing  that  innocent  lambkin 
with  some  means  of  knowing  his  enemv,  and  foresee- 
ing his  designs.     Thus  she  hath  been  observed  to  act 
in  the  case  of  a  rattlesnake,  wliich  never  meditates  a 
human  prey  without  giving  warning  of  his  approach. 
This  observation  will,  I  am  convinced,  hold  most 
true,  if  applied  to  the  most  venomous  individuals  of 
human  insects.     A  tjrant,  a  trickster,  and  a  bully, 
generally  wear  the  n^arks  of  their  several  dispositions 
in  their  countenances  ;  so  do  the  vixen,  the  shrew, 
the  scold,  and  all  other  females  of  the  like  kind. 
But,  perhaps,  nature  hath  never  afforded  a  stronger 
example  of  all  this  than  in  the  case  of  Mrs.  Francis. 
Siie  was  a  short,  squat  woman ;  her  head  was  closely 
joined  to  her  shoulders,  where  it  was  fixed  somewhat 
awi-y  ;  every  feature  of  her  countenance  was  sharp 
and  pointed  ;  her  face  was  furrowed  with  the  small- 
pox ;  and  her  complexion,  whicli  seemed  to  be  able 
to  turn  milk  to  curds,  not  a  little  resembled  in  colour 
such  milk  as  had  already  undergone  that  operation. 
She  apjwared,  indeed,  to  have  many  symptoms  of  a 
deep  jaundice  in  her    look  ;    but  the  strength  and 
firnmess  of  her  voice  overbalanced  them  all ;  the  tone 

[263j 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

of  this  was  a  sharp  treble  at  a  distance,  for  I  seldom 
heard  it  on  tlie  same  floor,  but  was  usually  waked 
with  it  in  the  morning,  and  entertained  with  it  almost 
continually  through  the  wliole  day. 

Though  vocal  be  usually  put  in  opposition  to  in- 
strumental music,  I  question  whether  this  might  not 
be  thought  to  partake  of  the  nature  of  both ;  for 
she  played  on  two  instruments,  which  she  seemed  to 
keep  for  no  other  use  from  morning  till  night ;  these 
were  two  maids,  or  rather  scolding-stocks,  who,  I 
suppose,  by  some  means  or  other,  earned  their  board, 
and  she  gave  them  their  lodging  gratis,  or  for  no 
other  service  than  to  keep  her  lungs  in  constant 
exercise. 

She  differed,  as  I  have  said,  in  every  particular 
from  her  husband  ;  but  very  remarkably  in  this,  that, 
as  it  was  impossible  to  displease  him,  so  it  was  as 
impossible  to  please  her  ;  and  as  no  art  could  remove 
a  smile  from  his  countenance,  so  could  no  art  cany 
it  into  hers.  If  her  bills  were  remonstrated  against 
she  was  offended  with  the  tacit  censure  of  her  fair^ 
dealing  ;  if  they  were  not,  she  seemed  to  regard  it  as 
a  tacit  sarcasm  on  her  folly,  which  might  have  set 
down  larger  prices  with  the  same  success.  On  this 
latter  hint  she  did  indeed  improve,  for  she  daily 
raised  some  of  her  articles.  A  pennyworth  of  fiie 
was  to-day  rated  at  a  shilling,  to-morrow  at  eigh- 
teen-pence;  and  if  she  dressed  us  two  dishes  for  two 
shillings  on  the  Saturday,  we  paid  half-a-crown  for 
the  cookery  of  one  on  the  Sunday  ;  and,  whenever 
she  was  paid,  she  never  left  the  room  without  la- 
menting the  small  amount  of  her  bill,  saying,  "she 

[264,] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

knew  not  how  it  was  that  others  got  their  money  by 
gentlefolks,  but  for  her  part  she  had  not  the  art  of 
it."  When  she  was  asked  why  she  complained,  when 
she  was  paid  all  slie  demanded,  she  answered,  "  she 
could  not  deny  that,  nor  did  she  know  she  had 
omitted  anything ;  but  that  it  was  but  a  poor  bill 
for  gentlefolks  to  pay.'" 

I  accounted  for  all  this  by  her  having  heard,  that 
it  is  a  maxim  with  the  principal  inn-holders  on  the 
continent,  to  levy  considerable  sums  on  their  guests, 
who  travel  with  many  horses  and  servants,  though 
such  guests  should  eat  little  or  nothing  in  their 
houses ;  the  method  being,  I  believe,  in  such  cases 
to  lay  a  capitation  on  the  horses,  and  not  on  their 
masters.  But  she  did  not  consider  that  in  most  of 
these  inns  a  very  great  degree  of  hunger,  without 
any  degree  of  delicacy,  may  be  satisfied ;  and  that  in 
all  such  inns  there  is  some  appearance,  at  least,  of 
provision,  as  well  as  of  a  man-cook  to  dress  it,  one 
of  the  hostlers  being  always  furnished  with  a  cook's 
cap,  waistcoat,  and  apron,  ready  to  attend  gentle- 
men and  ladies  on  their  sunnnons ;  that  the  case 
therefore  of  such  inns  differed  from  hers,  where  there 
was  nothing  to  eat  or  to  drink,  and  in  reality  no 
house  to  inhabit,  no  chair  to  sit  upon,  nor  any  bed 
to  lie  in ;  that  one  third  or  fourth  part  therefore  of 
the  levy  imposed  at  inns  was,  in  truth,  a  higher  tax 
than  the  whole  was  when  laid  on  in  the  other,  where, 
in  order  to  raise  a  small  sum,  a  man  is  oblio-ed  to 
submit  to  pay  as  many  various  ways  for  the  same 
thing  as  he  doth  to  the  government  for  the  light 
which  enters  through  his  own  window  into  his  own 

[  265  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

house,  from  his  own  estate  ;  such  are  the  articles  of 
bread  and  beer,  firing,  eating  and  dressing  dinner. 

The  foregoing  is  a  very  imperfect  sketch  of  this 
extraordinary  couple ;  for  everything  is  here  lowered 
instead  of  being  heightened.  Those  who  would  see 
them  set  forth  in  more  lively  colours,  and  with  the 
proper  ornaments,  may  read  the  descriptions  of  the 
Furies  in  some  of  the  classical  poets,  or  of  the  Stoic 
philosophers  in  the  works  of  Lucian. 

Monda'j,  Jnly  20.  —  This  day  nothing  remarkable 
passed  ;  Mrs.  Francis  levied  a  tax  of  fourteen  shill- 
ings for  the  Sunday.  We  regaled  ourselves  at  din- 
ner with  venison  and  good  claret  of  our  own  ;  and, 
in  the  afternoon,  the  women,  attended  by  the  cap- 
tain, walked  to  see  a  delightful  scene  two  miles 
distant,  with  the  beauties  of  which  they  declared 
themselves  most  highly  charmed  at  their  return, 
as  well  as  with  the  goodness  of  the  lady  of  the 
mansion,  who  had  slipt  out  of  the  way,  that  my 
wife  and  their  company  might  refresh  themselves 
with  the  flowers  and  fruits  with  which  her  garden 
abounded. 

Tiiefiday,  July  21. — This  day,  having  paid  our 
taxes  of  yesterday,  we  were  permitted  to  regale  our- 
selves with  more  venison.  Some  of  this  we  would 
willingly  have  exchanged  for  mutton  ;  but  no  such 
flesh  was  to  be  had  nearer  than  Portsmouth,  from 
whence  it  would  have  cost  more  to  convey  a  joint  to 
us  than  the  freitjht  of  a  Portutjal  ham  from  Lisbon 
to  London  amounts  to  ;  for  though  the  water-car- 
riage be  somewhat  cheaper  here  than  at  Deal,  yet 
can  you  find  no  waterman  \\\\o  will  go  on  board  his 

[  26()  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

boal,  unless  by  two  or  three  hours''  rowing  he  can 
get  drunk  for  the  residue  of  the  week. 

And  here  I  have  an  opportunity,  which  possibly 
may  not  offer  again,  of  publishing  some  observations 
on  that  political  oecononiy  of  this  nation,  whicli,  as 
it  concerns  only  the  regulation  of  th  mob,  is  below 
the  notice  of  our  great  n)en  ,  tliough  on  the  due 
regulation  of  this  order  depend  many  emoluments, 
which  the  great  men  themselves,  or  at  least  many 
who  tread  close  on  thei  heels,  may  enjoy,  as  well 
as  some  dangers  which  may  some  time  or  other  arise 
from  introducing  a  pure  state  of  anarchy  among 
them.  I  will  represent  the  case,  as  it  appears  to  me, 
very  fairly  and  impartially  between  the  mob  and 
their  betters. 

The  whole  mischief  which  infects  this  part  of  our 
oeconomy  arises  from  the  vague  and  uncertain  use  of 
a  word  called  liberty,  of  which,  as  scarce  any  two 
men  with  whom  I  have  ever  conversed  seem  to  have 
one  and  the  same  idea,  I  am  inclined  to  doubt 
whether  there  be  any  simple  universal  notion  repre- 
sented by  this  word,  or  whether  it  conveys  any 
clearer  or  more  determinate  idea  than  some  of  those 
old  Punic  compositions  of  syllables  preserved  in  one 
of  the  comedies  of  Plautus,  but  at  present,  as  I 
conceive,  not  supposed  to  be  understood  by  any  one. 
By  liberty,  however,  I  apprehend,  is  commonly 
understood  the  power  of  doing  what  we  please  ;  not 
absolutely,  for  then  it  would  be  inconsistent  with 
law,  by  whose  control  the  liberty  of  the  freest 
people,  except  only  the  Hottentots  and  wild  Indians, 
nmst  always  be  restrained. 

[267] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

But,  indeed,  however  largely  we  extend,  or  how- 
ever moderately  we  confine,  the  sense  of  the  word,  no 
politician  will,  I  presume,  contend  that  it  is  to  per- 
vade in  an  equal  degree,  and  be,  with  the  same  ex- 
tent, enjoyed  by,  every  member  of  society ;  no  such 
politv  having  been  ever  found,  unless  among  those 
vile  people  just  before  commemorated.  Among  the 
Greeks  and  Romans  the  servile  and  free  conditions 
were  opposed  to  each  other  ;  and  no  man  who  had 
the  misfortune  to  be  enrolled  under  the  former  could 
lay  any  claim  to  liberty  till  the  right  was  conveyed 
to  him  by  that  master  whose  slave  he  was,  either  by 
the  means  of  conquest,  of  purchase,  or  of  birth. 

This  was  the  state  of  all  the  free  nations  in  the 
woi-ld ;  and  this,  till  very  lately,  was  understood  to 
be  the  case  of  our  own. 

I  will  not  indeed  say  this  is  the  case  at  present, 
the  lowest  class  of  our  people  having  shaken  off  all 
the  shackles  of  their  superiors,  and  become  not  only 
as  free,  but  even  freer,  than  most  of  their  superiors. 
I  believe  it  cannot  be  doubted,  though  perhaps  we 
have  no  recent  instance  of  it,  that  the  personal 
attendance  of  every  man  who  hath  three  hundred 
pounds  per  annum,  in  parliament,  is  indispensably 
his  duty  ;  and  that,  if  the  citizens  and  burgesses  of 
any  city  or  borough  shall  chuse  such  a  one,  how- 
ever reluctant  he  appear,  he  may  be  obliged  to 
attend,  and  be  forcibly  brought  to  his  duty  by  the 
serj  eant-at-arms. 

Again,  there  are  numbers  of  subordinate  offices, 
some  of  which  are  of  burthen,  and  others  of  expence, 
in  the  civil  government  —  all  of  which  persons  who 

[  268  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

are  qualified  are  liable  to  have  imposed  on  them, 
may  be  obliged  to  undertake  and  properly  execute, 
notwithstanding  any  bodily  labour,  or  even  danger, 
to  which  they  may  subject  themselves,  under  the 
penalty  of  fines  and  imprisonment ;  nay,  and  what 
may  appear  somewhat  hard,  may  be  compelled  to 
satisfy  the  losses  which  are  eventually  incident,  to 
that  of  sheriff  in  particular,  out  of  their  own  private 
fortunes  ;  and  though  this  should  prove  the  ruin  of 
a  family,  yet  the  public,  to  whom  the  price  is  due, 
incurs  no  debt  or  obligation  to  preserve  its  ofl^cer 
harmless,  let    his  innocence  appear  ever  so  clearly. 

I  purposely  omit  the  mention  of  those  military  or 
militiary  duties  which  our  old  constitution  laid  upon 
its  greatest  members.  These  might,  indeed,  supply 
their  posts  with  some  other  able-bodied  men  ;  but  if 
no  such  could  have  been  found,  the  obligation  never- 
theless remained,  and  they  were  compellable  to  serve 
in  their  own  proper  persons. 

The  only  one,  therefore,  who  is  possessed  of  abso- 
lute liberty  is  the  lowest  member  of  the  society,  who, 
if  he  prefers  hunger,  or  the  wild  product  of  the  fields, 
hedges,  lanes,  and  rivers,  with  the  indulgence  of  ease 
and  laziness,  to  a  food  a  little  more  delicate,  but  pur- 
chased at  the  expence  of  labour,  may  lay  himself 
imder  a  shade  ;  nor  can  be  forced  to  take  the  other 
alternative  from  that  which  he  hath,  I  will  not  aflfirm 
whether  wisely  or  foolishly,  chosen. 

Here  I  may,  perhaps,  be  reminded  of  the  bst 
Vagrant  Act,  where  all  such  persons  are  compellable 
to  work  for  the  usual  and  accustomed  wa<res  allowed 
in  the  place ;  but  this  is  a  clause  little  known  to  the 

[269] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

justices  of  the  peace,  and  least  likely  to  be  executed 
by  those  who  do  know  it,  as  they  know  likewise  that 
it  is  formed  on  the  antient  power  of  the  justices  to 
fix  and  settle  these  wages  every  year,  making  proper 
allowances  for  the  scarcity  and  plenty  of  the  times, 
the  cheapness  and  dearness  of  the  place  ;  and  that 
the  usual  and  accustomed  zvages  are  words  without 
any  force  or  meaning,  when  tliere  are  no  such  ;  but 
every  man  spunges  and  raps  whatever  he  can  get ; 
and  will  haggle  as  long  and  struggle  as  hard  to 
cheat  his  employer  of  twopence  in  a  day"'s  labour 
as  an  honest  tradesman  will  to  cheat  his  customers 
of  the  same  sum  in  a  yard  of  cloth  or  silk. 

It  is  a  great  pity  then  that  this  power,  or  rather 
this  practice,  was  not  revived  ;  but,  this  having  been 
so  long  omitted  that  it  is  become  obsolete,  will  be 
best  done  by  a  new  law,  in  which  this  power,  as  well 
as  the  consequent  power  of  forcing  the  poor  to  labour 
at  a  moderate  and  reasonable  rate,  should  be  well 
considered  and  tlieir  execution  facilitated  ;  for  gentle- 
men who  give  their  time  and  labour  gratis,  and  even 
voluntarily,  to  the  public,  have  a  right  to  expect 
that  all  their  business  be  made  as  easy  as  possible ; 
and  to  enact  laws  without  doing  this  is  to  fill  our 
statute-books,  much  too  full  already,  still  fuller  with 
dead  letter,  of  no  use  but  to  the  printer  of  the  acts 
of  parliament. 

That  the  evil  which  I  have  here  pointed  at  is  of 
itself  worth  redressing,  is,  I  apprehend,  no  subject 
of  dispute;  for  why  should  any  persons  in  distress  be 
deprived  of  the  assistance  of  their  fellow-subjects, 
when  they  are   willing  amply   to  reward   them  for 

[270] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

their  labour  ?  or,  why  should  the  lowest  of  the 
people  be  permitted  to  exact  ten  times  the  value 
of  their  work  ?  For  those  exactions  encrease  with 
the  degrees  of  necessity  in  their  object,  insomuch 
that  on  the  former  side  many  are  horribly  imposed 
upon,  and  that  often  in  no  trifling  matters.  I  was 
very  well  assured  that  at  Deal  no  less  than  ten 
guineas  was  required,  and  paid  by  the  supercargo 
of  an  Indiaman,  for  carrying  him  on  board  two 
miles  from  the  shore  when  she  was  just  ready  to  sail ; 
so  that  his  necessity,  as  his  pillager  well  understood, 
was  absolute.  Again,  many  others,  whose  indigna- 
tion will  not  submit  to  such  plunder,  are  forced  to 
refuse  the  assistance,  though  they  are  often  great 
sufferers  by  so  doing.  On  the  latter  side,  the  lowest 
of  the  people  are  encouraged  in  laziness  and  idleness  ; 
while  they  live  by  a  twentieth  part  of  the  labour  that 
ought  to  maintain  them,  which  is  diametrically  op- 
posite to  the  interest  of  the  public ;  for  that  requires 
a  great  deal  to  be  done,  not  to  be  paid,  for  a  little. 
And  moreover,  they  are  confirmed  in  habits  of  ex- 
action, and  are  taught  to  consider  the  distresses  of 
their  superiors  as  their  own   fair  emolument. 

But  enough  of  this  matter,  of  which  I  at  first  in- 
tended only  to  convey  a  hint  to  those  who  are  alone 
capable  of  applying  the  remedy,  though  they  are  the 
last  to  whom  the  notice  of  those  evils  would  occur, 
without  some  such  monitoi*  as  myself,  who  am  forced 
to  travel  about  the  world  in  the  form  of  a  passenger. 
I  cannot  but  say  I  heartily  wish  our  governors  would 
attentively  consider  this  method  of  fixing  the  price  of 
labour,  and  by  that  means  of  compelling  the  poor  to 

[271] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

work,  since  the  due  execution  of  such  powers  will,  I 
apprehend,  be  found  the  true  and  only  means  of 
inakintr  them  useful,  and  of  advancing  trade  from  its 
present  visibly  declining  state  to  the  height  to  which 
Sir  William  Petty,  in  his  Political  Arithmetic,  thinks 
it  capable  of  being  carried. 

In  the  afternoon  the  lady  of  the  above-mentioned 
mansion  called  at  our  inn,  and  left  her  compliments  to 
us  with  Mrs.  Francis,  with  an  assurance  thart  while  we 
continued  wind-boimd  in  that  place,  where  she  feared 
we  could  be  but  indifferently  accommodated,  we  were 
extremely  welcome  to  the  use  of  anything  which  her 
garden  or  her  house  afforded.  So  polite  a  message 
convinced  us,  in  spite  of  some  arguments  to  the  con- 
trary, that  we  were  not  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  or  on 
some  island  where  the  few  savage  inhabitants  have 
little  of  human  in  them  besides  their  form. 

And  here  I  mean  nothing  less  than  to  derogate 
from  the  merit  of  this  lady,  who  is  not  only  extremely 
polite  in  her  behaviour  to  strangers  of  her  own  rank, 
but  so  extremely  good  and  charitable  to  all  her  poor 
neiirhbours  who  stand  in  need  of  her  assistance,  that 
she  hath  the  universal  love  and  praises  of  all  who  live 
near  her.  But,  in  reality,  how  little  doth  the  acqui- 
sition of  so  valuable  a  character,  and  the  full  indul- 
gence of  so  worthy  a  disposition,  cost  those  who 
possess  it !  Both  are  accomplished  by  the  very  of^fils 
whi^h  fall  from  a  table  moderately  plentiful.  That 
they  are  enjoyed  therefore  by  so  few  arises  truly  from 
there  being  so  few  who  have  any  such  disposition  to 
gratify,  or  who  aim  at  any  such  character. 

Wednesday,  Jidy  22.  —  This  morning,  after  hav- 

[  272  ] 


A    VOYx\GE    TO    LISBON 

ing  been  mulcted  as  usual,  Ave  dispatched  a  servant 
with  proper  acknowledgments  of  the  lady's  good- 
ness ;  but  confined  our  wants  entirely  to  the  pro- 
ductions of  her  garden.  He  soon  returned,  in 
company  with  the  gardener,  botli  richly  laden  with 
almost  every  particular  which  a  garden  at  this  most 
fruitful  season  of  the  year  produces. 

While  we  were  regaling  ourselves  with  these,  to- 
wards the  close  of  our  dinner,  we  received  orders  from 
our  commander,  who  had  dined  that  day  with  some 
inferior  officers  on  board  a  man-of-war,  to  return 
instantly  to  the  ship ;  for  that  the  wind  was  become 
favourable,  and  he  should  weigh  that  evening.  These 
orders  were  soon  followed  by  the  captain  himself,  who 
was  still  in  the  utmost  hurry,  though  the  occasion  of 
it  had  long  since  ceased ;  for  the  wind  had,  indeed,  a 
little  shifted  that  afternoon,  but  was  before  this  very 
quietly  set  down  in  its  old  quarters. 

This  last  was  a  lucky  hit  for  me  ;  for,  as  the  cap- 
tain, to  whose  orders  we  resolved  to  pay  no  obedience, 
unless  delivered  by  himself,  did  not  return  till  past 
six,  so  much  time  seemed  requisite  to  put  up  the 
furniture  of  our  bed-chamber  or  dining-room,  for 
almost  every  article,  even  to  some  of  the  chairs,  were 
either  our  own  or  the  captain^s  property  ;  so  much 
more  in  conveying  it  as  well  as  myself,  as  dead  a 
luggage  as  any,  to  the  shore,  and  thence  to  the  ship, 
that  the  night  threatened  first  to  overtake  us.  A 
terrible  circumstance  to  me,  in  my  decayed  condition  ; 
especially  as  very  heavy  showers  of  rain,  attended 
with  a  high  wind,  continued  to  fall  incessantly ;  the 
being  carried  through  which  two  miles  in  the  dark, 
VOL.  I.  - 18  [  273  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ill  a  wet  and  open  boat,  seemed  little  less  than  certain 
death. 

However,  as  mj  commander  was  absolute,  his  orders 
peremptory,  and  my  obedience  necessary,  I  resolved 
to  avail  myself  of  a  })liilosop]iy  which  hath  been  of 
notable  use  to  me  in  the  latter  part  of  my  life,  and 
which  is  contained  in  this  hemistich  of  Virffil :  — 

—  Superanda  omnis  fortuna  ferendo  est. 

The  meaning  of  which,  if  Virgil  had  any,  I  think  I 
rightly  understood,  and  rightly  applied. 

As  I  was  therefore  to  be  entirely  passive  in  my 
motion,  I  resolved  to  abandon  myself  to  the  conduct 
of  those  who  were  to  carry  me  into  a  cart  when  it  re- 
turned from  unloading  the  ffoods. 

But  before  this,  the  captain,  perceiving  what  had 
happened  in  the  clouds,  and  that  the  wind  remained 
as  much  his  enemy  as  ever,  came  upstairs  to  me  with 
a  reprieve  till  the  morning.  This  was,  I  own,  very 
agreeable  news,  and  I  little  regretted  the  trouble  of 
refurnishing  my  apartment,  by  sending  back  for  the 
goods. 

Mrs.  Francis  was  not  well  pleased  with  this.  As 
she  understood  the  reprieve  to  be  only  till  the  morn- 
ing, she  saw  nothing  but  lodging  to  be  possibly  added, 
out  of  which  she  was  to  deduct  fire  and  candle,  and 
the  remainder,  she  thought,  would  scarce  pay  her  for 
her  trouble.  She  exerted  therefore  all  the  ill-humour 
of  which  she  was  mistress,  and  did  all  she  could 
to  thwart  and  perplex  everything  during  the  whole 


evening. 


Thursday,  July  23.  —  Early  in  the  morning  tlie 

[274  1 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

captain,  who  had  remained  on  shore  all  night,  came 
to  visit  us,  and  to  press  us  to  make  haste  on  board. 
"  I  am  resolved,"  says  he,  '•'  not  to  lose  a  moment 
now  the  wind  is  coming  about  fair  :  for  my  own  part, 
I  never  was  surer  of  a  wind  in  all  my  life."  I  use 
his  very  words  ;  nor  will  I  presume  to  interpret  or 
comment  upon  them  farther  than  by  observing  tliat 
they  were  spoke  in  the  utmost  hurry. 

We  promised  to  be  ready  as  soon  as  breakfast  was 
over,  but  this  was  not  so  soon  as  was  expected  ;  for, 
in  removing  our  goods  the  evening  before,  the  tea- 
chest  was  unhappily  lost. 

Every  place  was  immediately  searched,  and  many 
where  it  was  impossible  for  it  to  be  ;  for  this  was  a 
loss  of  much  greater  consequence  than  it  may  at  first 
seem  to  many  of  my  readers.  Ladies  and  valetudi- 
narians do  not  easily  dispense  with  the  use  of  this 
sovereign  cordial  in  a  single  instance ;  but  to  under- 
take a  long  voyage,  without  any  probability  of  being 
supplied  with  it  the  whole  way,  was  above  the  reach 
of  patience.  And  yet,  dreadful  as  this  calamity  was, 
it  seemed  unavoidable.  The  whole  town  of  Ryde 
could  not  supply  a  single  leaf;  for,  as  to  what  Mrs. 
Francis  and  the  shop  called  by  that  name,  it  was  not 
of  Chinese  growth.  It  did  not  indeed  in  the  least 
resemble  tea,  either  in  smell  or  taste,  or  in  any  par- 
ticular, unless  in  being  a  leaf;  for  it  was  in  truth  no 
other  than  a  tobacco  of  the  mundungus  species.  And 
as  for  the  hopes  of  relief  in  any  other  port,  they  wei'e 
not  to  be  depended  upon,  for  the  captain  had  posi- 
tively declared  he  was  sui-e  of  a  wind,  and  would  let 
go  his  anchor  no  more  till  he  arrived  in  the  Tajo. 

[275] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON. 

When  a  good  deal  of  time  had  been  spent,  most  of 
it  indeed  wasted  on  this  occasion,  a  thought  occurred 
which  every  one  wondered  at  its  not  having  presented 
itself  the  first  moment.  Tliis  was  to  apply  to  the 
good  lady,  who  could  not  fail  of  pitying  and  reliev- 
ing such  distress.  A  messenger  was  immediately 
despatched  with  an  account  of  our  misfortune,  till 
whose  return  we  employed  ourselves  in  preparatives 
for  our  departure,  that  we  might  have  nothing  to  do 
but  to  swallow  our  bi'eakfast  when  it  arrived.  The 
tea-chest,  though  of  no  less  consequence  to  us  than 
the  military-chest  to  a  general,  was  given  up  as  lost, 
or  rather  as  stolen  ;  for  though  I  would  not,  for  the 
world,  mention  any  particular  name,  it  is  certain  we 
had  suspicions,  and  all,  I  am  afraid,  fell  on  the  same 
person. 

The  man  returned  from  the  worthy  lady  with  much 
expedition,  and  brought  with  him  a  canister  of  tea, 
despatched  with  so  true  a  generosity,  as  well  as  po- 
liteness, that  if  our  voyage  had  been  as  long  again  we 
should  have  incurred  no  danger  of  being  brought  to 
a  short  allowance  in  this  most  important  article.  At 
the  very  same  instant  likewise  arrived  William  the 
footman  with  our  own  tea-chest.  It  had  been,  in- 
deed, left  in  the  hoy,  when  the  other  goods  were 
re-landed,  as  William,  when  he  first  heard  it  was 
missing,  had  suspected;  and  whence,  had  not  the 
owner  of  tlie  hoy  been  unluckily  out  of  the  way,  he 
had  i-etrieved  it  soon  enough  to  have  prevented  our 
giving  the  lady  an  opportunity  of  displaying  some 
part  of  her  goodness. 

To  search  the  hoy  was,  indeed,  too  natural  a  sug- 

[276] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

gestion  to  liave  escaped  any  one,  nor  did  it  escape 
being  mentioned  by  many  of  us ;  but  we  were  dis- 
suaded from  it  by  my  wife's  maid,  who  perfectly  well 
remembered  she  had  left  the  chest  in  the  bed-cham- 
ber ;  for  that  she  had  never  given  it  out  of  her  hand 
in  her  way  to  or  from  tlie  hoy ;  but  William  per- 
haps knew  the  maid  better,  and  best  understood  how 
far  she  was  to  be  believed  ;  for  otherwise  he  would 
hardly  of  his  own  accord,  after  hearing  her  declara- 
tion, have  hunted  out  the  hoy-man,  with  much  pains 
and  difficulty. 

Thus  ended  this  scene,  which  begun  with  such  ap- 
pearance of  distress,  and  ended  with  becoming  the 
subject  of  mirth  and  laughter. 

Nothing  now  remained  but  to  pay  our  taxes,  which 
were  indeed  laid  with  inconceivable  severity.  Lodg- 
ing was  raised  sixpence,  fire  in  the  same  proportion, 
and  even  candles,  which  had  hitherto  escaped,  were 
charged  with  a  wantonness  of  imposition,  from  the 
beginning,  and  placed  under  the  stile  of  oversight. 
We  were  raised  a  whole  pound,  whereas  we  had  only 
burned  ten,  in  five  nights,  and  the  pound  consisted 
of  twentv-four. 

Lastly,  an  attempt  was  made  which  almost  as  far 
exceeds  human  credulity  to  believe  as  it  did  human 
patience  to  submit  to.  This  was  to  make  us  pay  as 
much  for  existin";  an  hour  or  two  as  for  existinir  a 
whole  day  ;  and  dressing  dinner  was  introduced  as  an 
article,  thougli  we  left  the  house  before  either  pot 
or  spit  had  approached  the  fire.  Hei-e  I  own  my 
patience  failed  me,  and  I  became  an  example  of  the 
truth  of  the  observation,  "  That  all  tyranny  and  op- 

[277] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

pression  may  be  carried  too  far,  and  that  a  yoke  may 
be  made  too  intolerable  for  the  neck  of  the  tamest 
slave."  When  I  remonstrated,  with  some  warmth, 
against  this  grievance,  Mrs.  Francis  gave  me  a  look, 
and  left  the  room  without  making  any  answer.  She 
returned  in  a  minute,  running  to  me  with  pen,  ink, 
and  paper,  in  her  hand,  and  desired  me  to  make  my 
own  bill ;  "  for  she  hoped,""  she  said,  "  I  did  not  ex- 
pect that  her  house  was  to  be  dirtied,  and  her  goods 
spoiled  and  consumed,  for  nothing.  The  whole  is 
but  thirteen  shillings.  Can  gentlefolks  lie  a  whole 
night  at  a  public-house  for  less  ?  If  they  can  I  am 
sure  it  is  time  to  give  off  being  a  landlady :  but  pay 
me  what  you  please ;  I  would  have  people  know  that 
I  value  money  as  little  as  other  folks.  But  I  was 
always  a  fool,  as  I  says  to  my  husband,  and  never 
knows  which  side  my  bread*  is  buttered  of.  And  yet, 
to  be  sure,  your  honour  shall  be  my  warning  not  to 
be  bit  so  again.  Some  folks  knows  better  than  other 
some  how  to  make  their  bills.  Candles  !  why  yes,  to 
be  sure ;  why  should  not  travellers  pay  for  candles .? 
I  am  sure  I  pays  for  my  candles,  and  the  chandler 
pays  the  king's  majesty  for  them  ;  and  if  he  did  not 
I  nmst,  so  as  it  comes  to  the  same  thing  in  the  end. 
To  be  sure  I  am  out  of  sixteens  at  present,  but  these 
burn  as  white  and  as  clear,  though  not  quite  so  large. 
I  expects  my  chandler  here  soon,  or  I  would  send  to 
Portsmouth,  if  your  honour  was  to  stay  any  time 
longer.  But  when  folks  stays  only  for  a  wind, 
you  knows  there  can  be  no  dependence  on  such  !  " 
Here  she  put  on  a  little  slyness  of  aspect,  and  seemed 
willing  to  submit  to  interruption.     I  interrupted  her 

[278] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

accordingly  by  throwing  down  lialf  a  guinea,  and 
declared  I  had  no  more  Engli^sh  money,  which 
vas  indeed  true ;  and,  as  she  could  not  immediately 
change  the  thirty-six  shilling  pieces,  it  put  a  final 
end  to  the  dispute.  Mrs.  Francis  soon  left  the  room, 
and  we  soon  after  left  the  house  ;  nor  would  this  good 
woman  see  us  or  wish  us  a  good  voyage. 

I  must  not,  however,  quit  this  place,  where  we  had 
been  so  ill-ti-eated,  without  doing  it  impartial  justice, 
and  recording  what  may,  with  the  strictest  truth,  be 
said  in  its  favour. 

First,  then,  as  to  its  situation,  it  is,  I  think,  most 
delightful,  and  in  the  most  pleasant  spot  in  the 
whole  island.  It  is  true  it  wants  the  advantage  of 
that  beautiful  river  which  leads  from  Newport  to 
Cowes ;  but  the  prospect  here  extending  to  the  sea, 
and  taking  in  Portsmouth,  Spithead,  and  St.  Helen's, 
would  be  more  than  a  recompence  for  the  loss  of  the 
Thames  itself,  even  in  the  most  delightful  part  of 
Berkshire  or  Buckinghamshire,  though  another  Den- 
ham,  or  another  Pope,  should  unite  in  celebrating  it. 
For  my  own  part,  I  confess  myself  so  entirely  fond 
of  a  sea  prospect,  that  I  think  nothing  on  the  land 
can  equal  it ;  and  if  it  be  set  off  with  shipping,  I 
desire  to  borrow  no  ornament  from  the  terra  Jirma. 
A  fleet  of  ships  is,  in  my  opinion,  the  noblest  object 
which  the  art  of  man  hath  ever  produced  ;  and  far 
beyond  the  power  of  those  architects  who  deal  in 
brick,  in  stone,  or  in  marble. 

When  the  late  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  one  of  the 
best  of  men  and  of  ministers,  used  to  equip  us  a 
yearly  fleet  at  Spithead,  his  enemies  of  taste  must 

[279] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

have  allowed  that  he,  at  least,  treated  the  nation 
with  a  fine  sight  for  their  money.  A  much  finer, 
indeed,  than  the  same  expence  in  an  encampment 
could  have  produced.  For  what  indeed  is  the  best 
idea  which  the  prospect  of  a  number  of  huts  can 
furnish  to  the  mind,  but  of  a  number  of  men  forming 
themselves  into  a  society  before  the  art  of  building 
more  substantial  houses  was  known  ?  This,  perhaps, 
would  be  agreeable  enough  ;  but,  in  truth,  there  is  a 
much  worse  idea  ready  to  step  in  before  it,  and  that 
is  of  a  body  of  cut-throats,  the  supports  of  tyranny, 
the  invaders  of  the  just  liberties  and  properties  of 
mankind,  the  plunderers  of  the  industrious,  the  rav- 
ishei's  of  the  chaste,  the  murderers  of  the  innocent, 
and,  in  a  word,  the  destroyers  of  the  plenty,  the 
peace,  and  the  safety,  of  their  fellow-creatures. 

And  what,  it  may  be  said,  are  these  men-of-war 
which  seem  so  delightful  an  object  to  our  eyes.!^  Are 
they  not  alike  the  support  of  tyranny  and  oppression 
of  innocence,  carrying  with  them  desolation  and  ruin 
wherever  their  masters  please  to  send  them  't  This 
is  indeed  too  true ;  and  however  the  ship  of  war 
may,  in  its  bulk  and  equipment,  exceed  the  honest 
merchant-man,  I  heartily  wish  there  was  no  neces- 
sity for  it;  for,  though  I  must  own  the  superior 
beauty  of  the  object  on  one  side,  I  am  more  pleased 
with  the  superior  excellence  of  the  idea  which  I  can 
raise  in  my  mind  on  the  other,  while  I  reflect  on  the 
art  and  industry  of  mankind  engaged  in  the  daily 
improvements  of  commerce  to  the  mutual  benefit  of 
all  countries,  and  to  the  establishment  and  happi- 
ness of  social  life. 

[280] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

This  pleasant  village  is  situated  on  a  gentle  ascent 
from  the  water,  whence  it  affords  that  charming  pros- 
pect I  have  above  described.  Its  soil  is  a  gravel, 
which,  assisted  with  its  declivity,  preserves  it  always 
so  dry  that  immediately  after  the  most  violent  rain  a 
fine  lady  may  walk  without  wetting  her  silken  shoes. 
The  fertility  of  the  place  is  apparent  from  its  extra- 
ordinary verdure,  and  it  is  so  shaded  with  large  and 
flourishing  elms,  that  its  narrow  lanes  are  a  natural 
grove  or  walk,  which,  in  the  regularity  of  its  planta- 
tion, vies  with  the  power  of  art,  and  in  its  wanton 
exuberancy  greatly  exceeds  it. 

In  a  field  in  the  ascent  of  this  hill,  about  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  from  the  sea,  stands  a  neat  little  chapel. 
It  is  very  small,  but  adequate  to  the  number  of  in- 
habitants ;  for  the  parish  doth  not  seem  to  contain 
above  thirty  houses. 

At  about  two  miles  distant  from  this  parish  lives 
that  polite  and  good  lady  to  whose  kindness  we  were 
so  much  obliged.  It  is  placed  on  a  hill  whose  bot- 
tom is  washed  by  the  sea,  and  which,  from  its  emi- 
nence at  top,  conniiands  a  view  of  great  part  of  the 
island  as  well  as  it  does  that  of  the  opposite  shore. 
This  house  was  formerly  built  by  one  Boyce,  who, 
from  a  blacksmith  at  Gosport,  became  possessed,  by 
great  success  in  smuggling,  of  forty  thousand  pound. 
With  part  of  this  he  purchased  an  estate  here,  and, 
by  chance  probably,  fixed  on  this  spot  for  building  a 
large  house.  Perhaps  the  convenience  of  carrying 
on  his  business,  to  which  it  is  so  well  adapted,  might 
dictate  the  situation  to  him.  We  can  hardly,  at 
least,  attribute  it  to  the  same  taste  with  which  he 

[281] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

furnished  his  house,  or  at  least  his  hbi-ary,  by  send- 
ing an  order  to  a  bookseller  in  I^ondon  to  pack  him 
up  five  hundred  pounds'  worth  of  his  handsomest 
books.  They  tell  here  several  almost  incredible 
stories  of  the  ignorance,  the  folly,  and  the  pride, 
which  this  poor  man  and  his  wife  discovered  during 
the  short  continuance  of  his  prosperity  ;  for  he  did 
not  long  escape  the  sharp  eyes  of  the  revenue  solici- 
tors, and  was,  by  extents  from  the  court  of  Excheq- 
uer, soon  reduced  below  his  original  state  to  that  of 
confinement  in  the  Fleet,  All  his  effects  were  sold, 
and  among  the  rest  his  books,  by  an  auction  at 
Portsmouth,  for  a  very  small  price ;  for  the  book- 
seller was  now  disco\ered  to  have  been  perfectly  a 
master  of  his  trade,  and,  relying  on  Mr.  Boyce's  find- 
ing little  time  to  read,  had  sent  him  not  only  the 
most  lasting  wares  of  his  shop,  but  duplicates  of  the 
same,  under  different  titles. 

His  estate  and  house  were  purchased  by  a  gentle- 
man of  these  parts,  whose  widow  now  enjoys  them, 
and  who  hath  improved  them,  particularly  her  gar- 
dens, with  so  elegant  a  taste,  that  tlie  painter  who 
would  assist  his  imagination  in  the  composition  of  a 
most  exquisite  landscape,  or  the  poet  who  would 
describe  an  earthly  paradise,  could  nowhere  furnish 
themselves  with  a  richer  pattern. 

We  left  this  place  about  eleven  in  the  morning, 
and  were  again  conveyed,  with  more  sunshine  than 
wind,  aboard  our  ship. 

Whence  our  captain  had  acquired  his  power  of 
prophecy,  when  he  promised  us  and  himself  a  pro>-> 
perous  wind,  I  will  not  determine  ;  it  is  sufficient  to 

[282] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

observe  that  he  was  a  false  prophet,  a.id  that  the 
weathercocks  continued  to  point  as  before. 

He  would  not,  however,  so  easily  give  up  his  skill 
in  prediction.  He  persevered  in  asserting  that  the 
wind  was  changed,  and,  having  weighed  his  anchor, 
fell  down  that  afternoon  to  St.  Helen's,  which  was 
at  about  the  distance  of  five  miles  ;  and  whither  his 
friend  the  tide,  in  defiance  of  the  wind,  which  was 
iflost  manifestly  against  him,  softly  wafted  him  in 
as  many  hours. 

Here,  about  seven  in  the  evening,  before  which 
time  we  could  not  procure  it,  we  sat  down  to  regale 
ourselves  with  some  roasted  venison,  which  was  much 
better  drest  than  we  imagined  it  would  be,  and  an 
excellent  cold  pasty  which  my  wife  had  made  at 
Rvde,  and  which  we  had  reserved  uncut  to  eat  on 
board  our  ship,  whither  we  all  chearfully  exulted  in 
being  returned  from  the  presence  of  Mrs.  Francis, 
who,  by  the  exact  resemblance  she  bore  to  a  fury, 
seemed  to  have  been  with  no  great  propriety  settled 
in  paradise. 

Friday,  July  24.  —  As  we  passed  by  Spithead  on 
the  preceding  evening  we  saw  the  two  regiments  of 
soldiers  who  were  just  returned  from  Gibraltar  and 
Minorca ;  and  this  day  a  lieutenant  belonging  to  one 
of  them,  who  was  the  captain's  nephew,  came  to  pay 
a  visit  to  his  uncle.  He  was  what  is  called  by  some 
a  very  pretty  fellow ;  indeed,  much  too  pretty  a 
fellow  at  his  years  ;  for  he  was  turn'id  of  thirty-four, 
though  his  address  and  conversation  would  have  be- 
come him  moi'e  before  he  had  reached  twenty.  In 
his    conversation,  it    is   true,   there    was    something 

[283] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

military  enougli,  as  it  consisted  chiefly  of  oaths,  and 
of  the  great  actions  and  wise  sayings  of  Jack,  and 
Will,  and  Tom  of  our  regiment,  a  phrase  eternally 
in   his  mouth  ;  and  he  seemed  to  conclude  that  it 
conveyed  to  all  the  oflicers  such  a  degree  of  public 
notoriety  and  importance  that  it  intitled  him,  like 
the  head  of  a  profession,  or  a  first  minister,  to  be  the 
subject  of  conversation   among  those   who  had  not 
the  least  personal  acquaintance  with  him.     This  did 
not  much  surprise  me,  as  I  have  seen  several  examples 
of  the  same  ;    but  the  defects  in   his  address,  espe- 
cially to  the  women,  were  so  great  that  they  seemed 
absolutely  inconsistent  with  the  behaviour  of  a  pretty 
fellow,  much  less  of  one  in  a  red  coat ;  and  yet,  be- 
sides having  been  eleven  years  in  the  army,  he  had 
had,  as   his    uncle    informed   me,    an    education    in 
France.     'I'his,  I  own,  would  have  appeared  to  have 
been   absolutely  thrown  away   had  not  his   animal 
spirits,  which  were  likewise  thrown  away  upon  him 
in  great  abundance,  borne  the  visible  stamp  of  the 
growth  of  that  country.     The  character  to  which  he 
had  an  indisputable  title  was  that  of  a  merry  fellow  ; 
so  very  merry  was  he  tliat  he  lauffhed  at  evervthins; 
he  said,  and  always  before  he  spoke.     Possibly,  in- 
deed, he  often  laughed  at  what  he  did  not  utter,  for 
every  speech  begun  with  a  laugh,  though  it  did  not 
always  end  w^ith  a  jest.     There  was  no  great  analogy 
between  the  characters  of  the  uncle  and  the  nephew, 
and  yet  they  seemed   intirely  to  agree  in  enjoying 
the  honour  which  the  red-coat  did  to  his  family. 
This  the  uncle  expressed  with  great  pleasure  in  his 
countenance,   and    seemed    desirous    of  shewin"-  all 

[284  J 


'& 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

present  the  honour  which  he  had  for  his  nephew, 
who,  on  liis  side,  was  at  some  pains  to  convince  us  of 
his  concurring  in  this  opinion,  and  at  the  same  time 
of  displaying  the  contempt  he  liad  for  the  parts,  as 
well  as  the  occupation,  of  his  uncle,  which  he  seemed 
to  think  reflected  some  disgrace  on  himself,  who  was 
a  member  of  that  profession  which  makes  every  man 
a  gentleman.  Not  tliat  I  would  be  understood  to 
insirmate  that  the  nephew  endeavoured  to  shake  off 
or  disown  his  uncle,  or  indeed  to  keep  him  at  any 
distance.  On  the  contrarv,  he  treated  him  with  the 
utmost  familiarity,  often  calling  him  Dick,  and  dear 
Dick,  and  old  Dick,  and  frequently  beginning  an 
oration  with  D — n  me,  Dick. 

All  this  condescension  on  the  part  of  the  young 
man  was  received  with  suitable  marks  of  complai- 
sance and  obligation  by  the  old  one ;  especially 
when  it  was  attended  with  evidences  of  the  same 
familiaritv  with  general  officers  and  other  persons  of 
rank  ;  one  of  whom,  in  particular,  I  know  to  have 
the  pride  and  insolence  of  the  devil  himself,  and 
who,  without  some  strong  bias  of  interest,  is  no 
more  liable  to  converse  familiarly  with  a  lieutenant 
than  of  being  mistaken  in  his  judgment  of  a  fool ; 
which  was  not,  perhaps,  so  certainly  the  case  of  the 
worthy  lieutenant,  who,  in  declaring  to  us  the  quali- 
fications which  recommended  men  to  his  countenance 
and  conversation,  as  well  as  what  effectually  set  a 
})ar  to  all  hopes  of  that  honour,  exclaimed,  "  No, 
sir,  by  the  d —  I  hate  all  fools  —  No,  d — n  me,  ex- 
cuse me  for  that.  That 's  a  little  too  much,  old 
Dick.     There  are  two  or  three  officers  of  our  regi- 

[285  j 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ment  whom  I  know  to  be  fools  ;  but  d — n  me  if  I 
am  ever  seen  in  tlieir  company.  If  a  man  hath  a 
fool  of  a  relation,  Dick,  you  know  he  can't  help  that, 
old  boy." 

Such  jokes  as  these  the  old  man  not  only  took  in 
good  part,  but  glibly  gulped  down  the  whole  narra- 
tive of  his  nephew  ;  nor  did  he,  I  am  convinced,  in 
the  least  doubt  of  oui-  as  readily  swallowing  the 
same.  This  made  him  so  charnied  with  the  lieuten- 
ant, that  it  is  probable  we  should  have  been  pestered 
with  him  the  whole  evening,  had  not  the  north 
wind,  dearer  to  our  sea-captain  even  than  this  glory 
of  his  family,  sprung  suddenly  up,  and  called  aloud 
to  him  to  weigh  his  anchor. 

While  this  ceremony  was  performing,  the  sea- 
captain  ordered  out  his  boat  to  row  the  land-captain 
to  shore  ;  not  indeed  on  an  uninhabited  island,  but 
one  which,  in  this  part,  looked  but  little  better, 
not  presenting  us  the  view  of  a  single  house.  In- 
deed, our  old  friend,  when  his  boat  returned  on 
shore,  perhaps  being  no  longer  able  to  stifle  his  envy 
of  the  superiority  of  his  nephew,  told  us  with  a 
smile  that  the  young  man  had  a  good  five  mile  to 
walk  before  he  could  be  accommodated  with  a  pass- 
age to  Portsmouth. 

It  appeared  now  that  the  captain  had  been  only 
mistaken  in  the  date  of  his  prediction,  by  placing 
the  event  a  day  earlier  than  it  happened  ;  for  the 
wind  which  now  arose  was  not  only  favourable  but 
brisk,  and  was  no  sooner  in  reach  of  our  sails  than  it 
swept  us  away  by  the  back  of  the  Isle  of  Wight, 
and,  having  in  the  night  carried  us  by  Christchurch 

[286] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

and  Peveral-point,  brought  us  the  next  noon,  Satur- 
day, Juhj  25,  off  the  island  of  Portland,  so  famous 
for  the  smallness  and  sweetness  of  its  mutton,  of 
which  a  leg  seldom  weighs  four  pounds.  We  would 
have  bought  a  sheep,  but  our  captain  would  not 
permit  it ;  though  he  needed  not  have  been  in  such 
a  hurry,  for  presently  the  wind,  I  will  not  positively 
assert  in  resentment  of  his  surliness,  shewed  him  a 
dog's  trick,  and  slily  slipt  back  again  to  his  sum- 
mer-house in  the  south-west. 

The  captain  now  grew  outrageous,  and,  declaring 
open  war  with  the  wind,  took  a  resolution,  rather 
more  bold  than  wise,  of  sailing  in  defiance  of  it,  and 
in  its  teeth.  He  swore  he  would  let  go  his  anchor  no 
more,  but  would  beat  the  sea  while  he  had  either 
yard  or  sail  left.  He  accordingly  stood  from  the 
shore,  and  made  so  large  a  tack  that  before  night, 
though  he  seemed  to  advance  but  little  on  his  way, 
he  was  got  out  of  sight  of  land. 

Towards  the  evening  the  wind  began,  in  the  cap- 
tain's own  language,  and  indeed  it  freshened  so 
much,  that  before  ten  it  blew  a  perfect  hurricane. 

The  captain  having  got,  as  he  supposed,  to  a  safe 
distance,  tacked  again  towards  the  English  shore  ;  and 
now  the  wind  veered  a  point  only  in  his  favour,  and 
continued  to  blow  with  such  violence,  that  the  ship 
ran  about  eight  knots  or  miles  an  hour  during  this 
whole  day  and  tempestuous  night  till  bed-time.  I 
■was  obliged  to  betake  myself  once  more  to  my  soli- 
tude, for  my  women  were  again  all  down  in  their 
sea-sickness,  and  the  captain  was  busv  on  deck  ;  for 
he  began  to  grow  uneasy,  chiefly,  I  believe,  because 

[287] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

he  did  not  well  know  where  he  was,  and  would,  I  am 
convinced,  have  been  very  glad  to  have  been  in  Port- 
land-road, eating  some  sheep's-head  broth. 

Having  contracted  no  great  degree  of  good-humour 
by  living  a  whole  day  alone,  without  a  single  soul  to 
converse  with,  I  took  but  ill  physic  to  purge  it  off',  by 
a  bed- conversation  with  the  captain,  who,  amongst 
many  bitter  lan)entations  of  his  fate,  and  protesting 
he  had  more  patience  than  a  Job,  frequently  inter- 
mixed summons  to  the  commanding  officer  on  the 
deck,  who  now  happened  to  be  one  Morrison,  a  car- 
penter, the  only  fellow  that  had  either  common  sense 
or  common  civility  in  the  ship.  Of  Morrison  he  en- 
quired every  quarter  of  an  hour  concerning  the  state 
of  affairs  :  the  wind,  the  care  of  the  ship,  and  other 
matters  of  navigation.  The  frequency  of  these  sum- 
mons, as  well  as  the  solicitude  with  which  they  were 
made,  sufficiently  testified  the  state  of  the  captain's 
mind  ;  he  endeavoured  to  conceal  it,  and  would  have 
given  no  small  alarm  to  a  man  who  had  either  not 
learnt  what  it  is  to  die,  or  known  what  it  is  to  be 
miserable.  And  my  dear  wife  and  child  must  pardon 
me,  if  what  I  did  not  conceive  to  be  any  great  evil  to 
myself  I  was  not  much  terrified  with  the  thoughts  of 
happening  to  them  ;  in  truth,  I  have  often  thought 
they  are  both  too  good  and  too  gentle  to  be  trusted 
to  the  power  of  any  man  I  know,  to  whom  they  could 
possibly  be  so  trusted. 

Can  I  say  then  I  had  no  fear  ?  indeed  I  cannot. 
Reader,  I  was  afraid  for  thee,  lest  thou  shouldst  have 
been  deprived  of  that  pleasure  thou  art  now  enjoy- 
ing ;  and  that  I  should  not  live  to  draw  out  on  paper 

[288] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

that  military  character  which  thou  didst  peruse  in 
the  journal  of  yesterday. 

From  all  these  fears  we  were  relieved,  at  six  in  the 
morning,  by  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Morrison,  who  ac- 
quainted us  that  he  was  sure  he  beheld  land  very 
near;  for  he  could  not  see  half  a  mile,  by  reason  of 
the  haziness  of  the  weather.  This  land  he  said  was, 
he  believed,  the  Berry-head,  which  forms  one  side  of 
Torbay  :  the  captain  declared  that  it  was  impossible, 
and  swore,  on  condition  he  was  right,  he  would  give 
him  his  mother  for  a  maid.  A  forfeit  which  became 
afterwards  strictly  due  and  payable  ;  for  the  captain, 
whipping  on  his  night-gown,  ran  up  without  his 
breeches,  and  within  half  an  hour  returning  into 
the  cabin,  wished  me  joy  of  our  lying  safe  at  anchor 
in  the  bay. 

Sunday,  Jtdy  26.  — Things  now  began  to  put  on 
an  aspect  very  different  from  what  they  had  lately 
worn  ;  the  news  that  the  ship  had  almost  lost  its 
mizen,  and  that  we  had  procured  very  fine  clouted 
cream  and  fresh  bread  and  butter  from  the  shore, 
restored  health  and  s{)irits  to  our  women,  and  we  all 
sat  down  to  a  very  chearful  breakfast. 

But,  however  pleasant  our  stay  promised  to  be  here, 
we  were  all  desirous  it  should  be  short :  I  resolved 
innnediately  to  despatch  my  man  into  the  country  to 
piirciiase  a  present  of  cider,  for  my  friends  of  that 
which  is  called  Southam,  as  well  as  to  take  with  me 
a  hogshead  of  it  to  Lisbon  ;  for  it  is,  in  my  opinion, 
much  more  delicious  than  that  which  is  the  srowth  of 
Herefordshire.  I  purchased  three  hogsheads  for  five 
pounds  ten  shillings,  all  which  I  should  have  scarce 
VOL.  I.  -  IP  [  289  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

thought  worth  nicntioniiiff,  had  I  not  beheved  it 
niiflit  be  of  equal  service  to  the  honest  farmer  who 
sold  it  me,  and  who  is  by  the  neighbouring  gentlemen 
reputed  to  deal  in  the  very  best ;  and  to  the  reader, 
who,  from  ignorance  of  the  means  of  providing  better 
for  himself,  swallows  at  a  dearer  rate  the  juice  of 
?Jiddlesex  turnip,  instead  of  that  Vinum  Pomonae 
which  Mr.  Giles  Leverance  of  Cheeshurst,  near  Dart- 
mouth in  Devon,  will,  at  the  price  of  forty  shillings 
per  hogshead,  send  in  double  casks  to  any  part  of 
the  world.  Had  the  wind  been  very  sudden  in  shift- 
ing, I  had  lost  my  cider  by  an  attempt  of  a  boatman 
to  exact,  according  to  custom.  He  required  five 
sliillinofs  for  conveyinsr  mv  man  a  mile  and  a  half  to 
the  shore,  and  foi;r  more  if  he  staid  to  bring  him 
back.  This  I  thought  to  be  such  insufferable  im- 
pudence that  I  ordered  him  to  be  immediately  chased 
from  the  ship,  without  any  answer.  Indeed,  there 
are  few  inconveniences  that  I  would  not  rather  en- 
counter than  encourage  the  insolent  demands  of 
these  wretches,  at  the  expence  of  my  own  indignation, 
of  which  I  own  they  are  not  the  only  objects,  but 
rather  those  who  purchase  a  paultry  convenience  by 
encouraging  them.  But  of  this  I  have  already  spoken 
very  largely.  I  shall  coiicluiie,  therefore,  with  the 
leave  which  this  fellow  took  of  our  ship  ;  saying  he 
should  know  it  again,  and  would  not  put  off  from  the 
shore  to  relieve  it  in  any  distress  w-hatever. 

It  will,  doubtless,  surprise  many  of  my  readers  to 
hear  that,  when  we  lay  at  anchor  within  a  mile  or 
two  of  a  town  several  days  together,  and  even  in 
the  most  temperate  weather,  we  should  frequently 

[290] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

want  fresh  provisions  and  herbage,  and  other  emolu- 
ments of  the  .shore,  as  much  as  if  we  had  been  a 
liundred  leagues  from  land.  And  this  too  while 
numbers  of  boats  were  in  our  sight,  whose  owners 
get  their  livelihood  by  rowing  people  up  and  down, 
and  could  be  at  any  time  sunniioned  by  a  signal  to 
our  assistance,  and  while  the  captain  had  a  little 
boat  of  his  own,  with  men  always  ready  to  row  it  at 
his  command. 

This,  however,  hath  been  partly  accounted  for 
already  by  the  imposing  disposition  of  the  people, 
wiio  asked  so  much  more  tha.n  the  proper  price  of 
their  labour.  And  as  to  the  usefulness  of  the  cap- 
tain's boat,  it  requires  to  be  a  little  expatiated  upon, 
as  it  w'ill  tend  to  lay  open  some  of  the  grievances 
which  demand  the  utmost  regard  of  our  legislature, 
as  they  affect  the  most  valuable  part  of  the  king's 
subjects — those  by  whom  the  commerce  of  the 
nation  is  carried  into  execution. 

Our  captain  then,  who  was  a  very  good  and  ex- 
perienced seaman,  having  been  above  thirty  years 
■lie  master  of  a  vessel,  part  of  which  he  had  served, 
; !)  he  phrased  it,  as  commander  of  a  privateer,  and 
had  discharged  himself  with  great  courage  and  con- 
duct, and  with  as  great  success,  discovej'ed  the  utmost 
.-aversion  to  the  sending  his  boat  ashore  whenever 
w'e  lay  wind-bound  in  any  of  our  harbours.  This 
aversion  did  not  arise  from  any  fear  of  wearing  out 
his  boat  by  using  it,  but  was,  in  truth,  the  result 
of  experience,  that  it  was  easier  to  send  his  men  on 
shore  than  to  recal  them.  Tliey  acknov.lcdged  him 
to  be  their  master  while  thcv  remained  on  shipboard, 

[  291  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

but  did  not  allow  his  power  to  extend  to  the  shores, 
where  they  had  no  sooner  set  their  foot  than  ever}' 
man  became  sui  juris,  and  thought  himself  at  full 
liberty  to  i-eturn  when  he  pleased.  Now  it  is  not 
any  delight  that  these  fellow  s  have  in  the  fresh  air 
or  verdant  fields  on  the  land.  Every  one  of  them 
would  prefer  his  ship  and  his  hannnock  to  all  the 
sweets  of  Arabia  the  Happy  ;  but,  unluckily  for  them, 
there  are  in  every  seaport  in  England  certain  houses 
whose  chief  livelihood  depends  on  providing  entertain- 
n)ent  for  the  gentlemen  of  the  jacket.  For  this 
purpose  they  are  always  well  furnished  with  those 
cordial  liquors  which  do  innnediately  inspire  the 
heart  with  gladness,  banishing  all  careful  thoughts, 
and  indeed  all  others,  from  the  mind,  and  opening 
the  mouth  with  songs  of  chearfulness  and  thanksgiv- 
ing for  the  many  wonderful  blessings  with  which  a 
seafaring  life  overflows. 

For  my  own  part,  however  whimsical  it  may  ap- 
pear, I  confess  I  have  thought  the  strange  story  of 
Circe  in  the  Odyssey  no  other  than  an  ingenious 
allegory,  in  which  Homer  intended  to  convey  to  his 
countrymen  the  same  kind  of  insti'uction  which  we 
intend  to  communicate  to  our  own  in  this  digression. 
As  teaching  the  art  of  war  to  the  Greeks  was  the 
plain  design  of  the  Iliad,  so  was  teaching  them  the 
art  of  navigation  the  no  less  manifest  intention  of 
the  Odyssey.  For  the  improvement  of  this,  their 
situation  was  most  excellently  adapted  ;  and  accord- 
ingly we  find  'J'hucvdides,  in  the  beginning  of  his 
history,  considers  the  Greeks  as  a  sett  of  pirates  or 
privateers,  j[)lundering  ejich  other  by  sea.     This  being 

[292] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

probably  the  first  institution  of  commerce  before  the 
Ars  Cauponaria  was  invented,  and  merchants,  instead 
of  robbing,  began  to  cheat  and  outwit  each  other, 
and  by  degrees  changed  the  Metabletic,  the  only 
kind  of  traffic  allowed  by  Aristotle  in  his  Politics, 
into  the  Chrematistic. 

By  this  allegory  then  I  suppose  Ulysses  to  have 
been  the  captain  of  a  merchant-ship,  and  Circe  some 
good  ale-wife,  who  made  his  crew  drunk  with  the 
spirituous  liquors  of  those  days.  With  this  the 
transformation  into  swine,  as  well  as  all  other  in- 
cidents of  the  fable,  will  notably  agree  ;  and  thus  a 
key  will  be  found  out  for  unlocking  the  whole  mys- 
tery, and  forging  at  least  some  meaning  to  a  story 
which,  at  present,  appears  very  strange  and  absurd. 

Hence,  moreover,  will  appear  tlie  very  near  re- 
semblance between  the  sea-faring:  men  of  all  ajjes  and 
nations  ;  and  here  perhaps  may  be  established  the 
truth  and  justice  of  that  observation,  which  will 
occur  oftener  than  once  in  tliis  voyage,  that  all 
human  flesh  is  not  the  same  flesh,  but  that  there  is 
one  kind  of  flesh  of  landmen,  and  another  of  seamen. 

Philosophers,  divines,  and  others,  who  have  treated 
the  gratification  of  human  appetites  with  contempt, 
have,  among  other  instances,  insisted  very  strongly 
on  that  satiety  which  is  so  apt  to  overtake  them 
even  in  the  very  act  of  enjoyment.  And  here  they 
more  particularly  deserve  our  attention,  as  most  of 
them  may  be  supposed  to  speak  from  their  own 
experience,  and  very  probably  gave  us  their  lessons 
with  a  full  stomach,  l^hus  hunger  and  thirst,  what- 
ever delight  they  may  afford  while   we  are  eating 

[  293  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

and  drinking,  pass  both  away  from  us  with  the 
plate  and  the  cup  ;  and  though  we  should  imitate 
the  Romans,  if,  indeed,  they  were  such  dull  beasts, 
which  I  can  scarce  believe,  to  unload  the  belly  like 
a  dung-pot,  in  order  to  fill  it  again  with  another 
load,  yet  would  the  pleasure  be  so  considerably  les- 
sened that  it  would  scarce  repay  us  the  trouble  of 
purchasing  it  with  swallowing  a  bason  of  camomile 
tea.  A  second  haunch  of  venison,  or  a  second  dose 
of  turtle,  would  hardly  allure  a  city  glutton  with  its 
smell.  Even  the  celebrated  Jew  himself,  when  well 
filled  with  calipash  and  calipee,  goes  contentedly 
home  to  tell  his  money,  and  expects  no  more  pleas- 
ure from  his  throat  during  the  next  twenty-four 
hours.  Hence  I  suppose  Dr.  South  took  that  ele- 
gant comparison  of  the  joys  of  a  speculative  man  to 
the  solemn  silence  of  an  Archimedes  over  a  problem, 
and  those  of  a  glutton  to  the  stillness  of  a  sow  at  her 
wash.  A  simile  which,  if  it  became  the  pulpit  at  all, 
could  only  become  it  in  the  afternoon. 

AXTiereas  in  those  potations  which  the  mind  seems 
to  enjoy,  rather  than  the  bodily  appetite,  there  is 
happily  no  such  satiety  ;  but  the  more  a  man  drinks, 
the  more  he  desires ;  as  if,  like  Mark  Anthony  in 
Dryden,  his  appetite  encreased  with  feeding,  and  this 
to  such  an  immoderate  degree,  ut  nullws  sH  desiderio 
aut  piidor  aut  modus.  Hence,  as  with  the  gang  of 
Captain  Ulysses,  ensues  so  total  a  transformation, 
that  the  man  no  more  continues  what  he  was.  Per- 
haps he  ceases  for  a  time  to  be  at  all ;  or,  though  he 
may  retain  the  same  outward  form  and  figure  he  had 
before,  yet  is  his  nobler  part,  as  we  are  taught  to  call 

[294] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

it,  so  changed,  that,  instead  of  being  the  same  man, 
he  scarce  remembers  what  he  was  a  few  hours  before. 
And  this  transformation,  being  once  obtained,  is  so 
easily  preserved  by  the  same  potations,  which  induced 
no  satiety,  that  the  captain  in  vain  sends  or  goes  in 
quest  of  his  crew.  They  know  him  no  longer ;  or, 
if  they  do,  they  acknowledge  not  his  power,  having 
indeed  as  entirely  forgotten  themselves  as  if  they  had 
taken  a  large  draught  of  the  river  of  Lethe. 

Nor  is  the  captain  always  sure  of  even  finding  out 
the  place  to  which  Circe  hath  conveyed  them.  There 
are  many  of  tliose  houses  in  every  port-town.  Nay, 
there  are  some  where  the  sorceress  doth  not  trust 
only  to  her  drugs  ;  but  hath  instruments  of  a  differ- 
ent kind  to  execute  her  purposes,  by  whose  means 
the  tar  is  effectually  secreted  from  the  knowledge 
and  pursuit  of  his  captain.  This  would,  indeed,  be 
very  fatal,  was  it  not  for  one  circumstance ;  that  the 
sailor  is  seldom  provided  with  the  proper  bait  for 
these  harpies.  However,  the  contrary  sometimes 
happens,  as  these  harpies  will  bite  at  almost  any- 
thing, and  will  snap  at  a  pair  of  silver  buttons,  or 
buckles,  as  surely  as  at  the  specie  itself  Nay,  some- 
times they  are  so  voracious,  that  the  very  naked  hook 
will  go  down,  and  the  jolly  young  sailor  is  sacrificed 
for  his  own  sake. 

In  vain,  at  such  a  season  as  this,  would  the  vows 
of  a  pious  heathen  have  prevailed  over  Neptune, 
^olus,  or  any  other  marine  deity.  In  vain  would 
the  prayers  of  a  Christian  captain  be  attended  with 
the  like  success.  The  wind  may  change  how  it 
pleases  while  all   hands  are  on   shore ;  the  anchor 

[  295  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBOiN 

would  remain  firm  in  the  ground,  and  the  ship  would 
continue  in  durance,  unless,  like  other  forcible  prison- 
breakers,  it  forcibly  got  loose  for  no  good  purpose. 

Now,  as  tlie  fa\  our  of  winds  and  courts,  and  such 
like,  is  always  to  be  laid  hold  on  at  the  very  first 
motion,  for  within  twenty-four  hours  all  may  be 
changed  again  ;  so,  in  the  former  case,  the  loss  of 
a  day  may  be  the  loss  of  a  voyage :  for,  though  it 
may  appear  to  persons  not  well  skilled  in  navigation, 
who  see  ships  meet  and  sail  by  each  other,  that  the 
wind  blows  sometimes  east  and  west,  north  and  south, 
backwai-ds  and  forwards,  at  the  same  instant;  yet, 
certain  it  is  that  the  land  is  so  contrived,  that  even 
the  same  wind  will  not,  like  the  same  horse,  always 
bring  a  man  to  the  end  of  his  journey  ;  but,  that  the 
gale  which  the  mariner  prayed  heartily  for  yesterday, 
he  may  as  heartily  deprecate  to-morrow ;  while  all 
use  and  benefit  which  would  have  arisen  to  him 
from  the  westerly  wind  of  to-morrow  may  be  totally 
lost  and  thrown  away  by  neglecting  the  ofl'er  of  the 
easterly  blast  which  blows  to-day. 

Hence  ensues  grief  and  disreputation  to  the  inno- 
cent captain,  loss  and  disappointment  to  the  worthy 
merchant,  and  not  seldom  great  prejudice  to  the 
trade  of  a  nation  whose  manufactures  are  thus  liable 
to  lie  unsold  in  a  foreign  warehouse,  the  market 
being  forestalled  by  some  rival  whose  sailors  are 
under  a  better  discipline.  To  guard  against  these 
inconveniences  the  prudent  captain  takes  every  pre- 
caution in  his  power ;  he  makes  the  strongest  con- 
tracts with  his  crew,  and  thereby  binds  them  so 
firmly,  that  none  but  the  greatest  or  least  of  men 

[  296  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

can  break  through  them  with  impunity  ;  but  for  one 
of  these  two  reasons,  which  I  will  not  determine,  the 
sailor,  like  his  brother  iish  the  eel,  is  too  slippery  to 
be  held,  and  plunges  into  his  element  with  perfect 
impunity. 

To  speak  a  plain  truth,  there  is  no  trusting  to  any 
contract  with  one  whom  the  wise  citizens  of  London 
call  a  bad  man  ;  for,  with  such  a  one,  though  your 
bond  be  ever  so  strong,  it  will  prove  in  the  end  good 
for  nothing. 

What  then  is  to  be  done  in  this  case  ?  What, 
indeed,  but  to  call  in  the  assistance  of  that  tremen- 
doas  magistrate,  the  justice  of  peace,  who  can,  and 
often  doth,  lay  good  and  bad  men  in  equal  durance  ; 
and,  though  he  seldom  cares  to  stretch  his  bonds  to 
what  is  great,  never  finds  anything  too  minute  for 
their  detention,  but  will  liold  the  smallest  reptile 
alive  so  fast  in  his  noose,  that  he  can  never  get  out 
till  he  is  let  drop  through  it. 

Why,  therefore,  upon  the  breach  of  those  con- 
tracts, should  not  an  innnediate  application  be  made 
to  the  nearest  magistrate  of  this  oider,  who  should 
be  empowered  to  convey  the  delin{|uent  either  to 
ship  or  to  prison,  at  the  election  of  the  captain,  to 
be  fettered  by  the  leg  in  either  place  .'' 

But,  as  the  case  now  stands,  the  condition  of  this 
poor  captain  without  any  commission,  and  of  this 
absolute  commander  without  anv  power,  is  much 
worse  than  we  have  hitherto  shewn  it  to  be  ;  for, 
notwithstanding  all  the  aforesaid  contracts  to  sail  in 
the  good  ship  the  Elizabeth,  if  the  sailor  should,  for 
better  wages,  find  it  more  his  interest  to  go  on  board 

[297] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

the  better  ship  the  Mary,  either  before  their  setting 
out  or  on  their  speedy  meeting  in  some  port,  he 
may  prefer  the  latter  without  an}'  other  danger  than 
that  of  "  doing  what  he  ought  not  to  have  done,"" 
rontrary  to  a  rule  which  he  is  seldom  Christian 
enough  to  have  much  at  heart,  while  the  captain  is 
generally  too  good  a  Christian  to  punish  a  man  out 
of  revenge  only,  when  he  is  to  be  at  a  considerable 
expense  for  so  doing.  There  are  many  other  defi- 
ciencies in  our  laws  relating  to  maritime  affairs,  and 
which  would  probably  have  been  long  since  cor- 
rected, had  we  any  seamen  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, Not  that  I  would  insinuate  that  the  legislature 
wants  a  supply  of  many  gentlemen  in  the  sea-service  ; 
but,  as  these  gentlemen  are  by  their  attendance  in 
the  house  unfortunately  prevented  from  ever  going 
to  sea,  and  there  learning  what  they  might  com- 
municate to  their  landed  brethren,  these  latter  re- 
main as  ignorant  in  that  branch  of  knowledge  as 
they  would  be  if  none  but  courtiers  and  fox-hunters 
had  been  elected  into  parliament,  without  a  single 
fish  amonff  them.  The  followino;  seems  to  me  to  be 
an  effect  of  this  kind,  and  it  strikes  me  the  stronger 
as  I  remember  the  case  to  have  happened,  and  re- 
member it  to  have  been  dispunishable.  A  captain 
of  a  trading  vessel,  of  which  he  was  part  owner, 
took  in  a  large  freight  of  oats  at  Liverpool,  con- 
signed to  the  market  at  Bear-key  :  this  he  carried  to 
a  port  in  Hampshire,  and  there  sold  it  as  his  own, 
and,  freighting  his  vessel  with  wheat  for  the  port  of 
Cadiz,  in  Spain,  dropt  it  at  Oporto  in  his  way ;  and 
there,  selling  it  for  his  own  use,  took  in  a  lading  of 

[  298  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

wine,  with  which  he  sailed  again,  and,  having  con- 
verted it  in  the  same  manner,  together  with  a  large 
sum  of  money  witli  which  he  was  intrusted,  for  the 
benefit  of  certain  merchants,  sold  the  ship  and  cargo 
in  another  port,  and  then  wisely  sat  down  contented 
with  the  fortune  he  had  made,  and  returned  to  Lon- 
don to  enjoy  the  remainder  of  his  days,  with  the 
fruits  of  his  former  labours  and  a  good  conscience. 
The  sum  he  brought  home  v.ith  him  consisted  of 
near  six  thousand  pounds,  all  in  specie,  and  most  of 
it  in  that  coin  which  Portugal  distributes  so  liberally 
over  Europe. 

He  was  not  yet  old  enough  to  be  past  all  sense  of 
pleasure,  nor  so  puffed  up  with  the  pride  of  his  good 
fortune  as  to  overlook  his  old  acquaintances  the 
journeymen  taylors,  from  among  whom  he  had  been 
formerly  pressed  into  the  sea-service,  and,  having 
there  laid  the  foundation  of  his  future  success  by  his 
shares  in  prizes,  had  afterwards  become  captain  of  a 
trading  vessel,  in  which  he  purchased  an  interest, 
and  had  soon  begun  to  trade  in  the  honourable 
manner  above  mentioned. 

The  captain  now  took  up  his  residence  at  an  ale- 
house in  Drury-lane,  where,  having  all  his  money  by 
him  in  a  trunk,  he  spent  about  five  pounds  a  day 
among  his  old  friends  the  gentlemen  and  ladies  of 
those  parts. 

The  merchant  of  Liverpool,  having  luckily  had 
notice  from  a  friend  during  the  blaze  of  his  fortune, 
did,  by  the  assistance  of  a  justice  of  peace,  without 
the  assistance  of  the  law,  recover  his  whole  loss. 
The    captain,  however,  wisely    chose   to    refund   no 

[299] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

more ;  but,  perceiving  with  what  hasty  strides  Envy 
was  pursuing  his  fortune,  he  took  speedy  means  to 
retire  out  of  her  reach,  and  to  enjoy  the  rest  of  his 
wealth  in  an  inglorious  obscurity  ;  nor  could  the 
same  justice  overtake  him  time  enough  to  assist  a 
second  merchant  as  he  had  done  the  first. 

This  was  a  very  extraordinaiy  case,  and  the  more 
so  as  the  ingenious  gentleman  had  steered  entirely 
clear  of  all  crimes  in  our  law. 

Now,  how  it  comes  about  that  a  robbery  so  very 
easy  to  be  committed,  and  to  w'hich  there  is  such 
immediate  temptation  always  before  the  eyes  of 
these  fellows,  should  receiv^e  the  encouragement  of 
impunity,  is  to  be  accounted  for  only  from  the  over- 
sight of  the  legislature,  as  that  oversight  can  only 
be,  I  think,  derived  fi-om  the  reasons  I  have  assigned 
for  it. 

But  I  will  dwell  no  longer  on  this  subject.  If 
what  I  have  here  said  should  seem  of  sufficient  con- 
sequence to  engage  the  attention  of  any  man  in 
power,  and  should  thus  be  the  means  of  applying 
any  remedy  to  the  most  inveterate  evils,  at  least,  I 
have  obtaijicd  my  whole  desire,  and  shall  have  lain 
so  long  wind-bound  in  the  ports  of  this  kingdom  to 
some  pur})osc.  I  would,  indeed,  have  this  work  — 
which,  if  I  should  live  to  finish  it,  a  matter  of  no 
great  certainty,  if  indeed  of  any  great  hope  to  me, 
will  be  probably  the  last  I  shall  ever  undertake  —  to 
produce  some  better  end  than  the  mere  diversion  of 
the  reader, 

Monday.  — This  day  our  captain  went  ashore,  to 
dine  with  a  gentleman  who  lives  in  these  parts,  and 

[  300] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

M-ho  so  exactly  resembles  the  character  given  by 
Homer  of  Axylus,  that  the  only  difference  I  can 
trace  between  them  is,  the  one,  living  by  the  high- 
way, erected  his  hospitality  chiefly  in  favour  of 
land-travellers ;  and  the  other,  living  by  the  water- 
side, gratified  his  humanity  by  accommodating  the 
wants  of  the  mariner. 

In  the  evening  our  commander  received  a  visit  from 
a  brother  bashaw,  who  lay  wind-bound  in  the  same 
harbour.  This  latter  captain  was  a  Swiss.  He  was 
then  master  of  a  vessel  bound  to  Guinea,  and  had 
formerly  been  a  privateering,  when  our  own  hero  was 
employed  in  the  same  laudable  service.  The  honesty 
and  freedom  of  the  Switzer,  his  vivacity,  in  which  he 
was  in  no  respect  inferior  to  his  near  neighbours  the 
French,  the  aukward  and  affected  politeness,  which 
was  likewise  of  French  extraction,  mixed  with  the 
brutal  roughness  of  the  English  tar  —  for  he  had 
served  under  the  colours  of  this  nation  and  his  crew 
had  been  of  the  san)e  —  made  such  an  odd  variety, 
such  a  hotch-potch  of  character,  that  I  should  have 
been  much  diverted  with  him,  had  not  his  voice, 
which  was  as  loud  as  a  speaking-trumpet,  unfortu- 
nately made  my  liead  ach.  The  noise  which  he  con- 
veyed into  the  deaf  ears  of  his  brother  captain,  who 
sat  on  one  side  of  him,  the  soft  addresses  with  which, 
mixed  with  aukward  bows,  he  saluted  the  ladies  on 
the  other,  were  so  agreeably  contrasted,  that  a  man 
must  not  only  have  been  void  of  all  taste  of  humour, 
and  insensible  of  mirth,  but  duller  than  Gibber  is 
represented  in  the  Dunciad,  who  could  be  unenter- 
tained  with  him  a  little  wliile;  for,  I  confess,  such 

[301] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

entertainments  should  always  be  very  short,  as  they 
are  very  liable  to  pall.  But  he  suffered  not  this  to 
happen  at  present ;  for,  having  given  us  his  company 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  only,  he  retired,  after  many 
apologies  for  the  shortness  of  his  visit. 

Tuesday.  —  The  wind  being  less  boisterous  than  it 
had  hitherto  been  since  our  arrival  here,  several  fish- 
ing-boats, which  the  tempestuous  weather  yesterday 
had  prevented  from  working,  came  on  board  us  with 
fish.  This  was  so  fresh,  so  good  in  kind,  and  so  very 
cheap,  tliat  we  supplied  ourselves  in  great  numbers, 
among  which  were  very  large  soles  at  fourpence  a 
pair,  and  whitings  of  almost  a  preposterous  size  at 
ninepence  a  score. 

The  only  fish  which  bore  any  price  was  a  John 
doree,  as  it  is  called.  I  bought  one  of  at  least  four 
pounds  weight  for  as  many  shillings.  It  resembles 
a  turbot  in  shape,  but  exceeds  it  in  firmness  and 
flavour.  The  pi-ice  had  the  appearance  of  being  con- 
siderable when  opposed  to  the  extraordinary  cheap- 
ness of  others  of  value,  but  was,  in  truth,  so  very 
reasonable  when  estimated  by  its  goodness,  that  it 
left  me  under  no  other  surprise  than  how  the  gentle- 
men of  this  country,  not  greatly  eminent  for  the 
delicacy  of  their  taste,  had  discovered  the  preference 
of  the  doree  to  all  other  fish  :  but  I  was  informed 
that  Mr.  Quin,  whose  distinguishing  tooth  hath  been 
so  justly  celebrated,  had  lately  visited  Plymouth,  and 
had  done  those  honours  to  the  doree  which  are  so 
justly  due  to  it  from  that  sect  of  modern  philosophers 
who,  with  Sir  Epicure  Mammon,  or  Sir  Epicure  Quin, 
their  head,  seem  more  to  delight  in  a  fish-pond  than 

[302] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

in  a  garden,  as  the  old  Epicureans  are  said  to  have 
done. 

Unfortunately  for  the  fishmongers  of  London,  the 
doree  resides  only  in  those  seas  ;  for,  could  any  of  this 
company  but  convey  one  to  the  temple  of  luxury  under 
the  Piazza,  where  Macklin  the  high-priest  daily  serves 
up  his  rich  offerings  to  that  goddess,  great  would  be 
the  reward  of  that  fishmonger,  in  blessings  poured 
down  upon  him  from  the  goddess,  as  great  would  his 
merit  be  towards  the  high-priest,  who  could  never  be 
thought  to  overrate  such  valuable  incense. 

And  here,  having  mentioned  the  extreme  cheap- 
ness of  fish  in  the  Devonshire  sea,  and  given  some 
little  hint  of  the  extreme  dearness  with  which  this 
commodity  is  dispensed  by  those  who  deal  in  it  in 
London,  I  cannot  pass  on  without  throwing  forth  an 
observation  or  two,  with  the  same  view  with  which  I 
have  scattered  my  several  remarks  through  this  voy- 
age, sufficiently  satisfied  in  having  finished  my  life, 
as  I  have  probably  lost  it,  in  the  service  of  my 
country,  from  the  best  of  motives,  though  it  should 
be  attended  with  the  worst  of  success.  Means  are 
always  in  our  power  ;  ends  are  very  seldom  so. 

Of  all  the  animal  foods  with  which  man  is  fur- 
nished, there  are  none  so  plenty  as  fish.  A  little 
rivulet,  that  glides  almost  unperceived  through  a 
vast  tract  of  rich  land,  will  support  more  hundreds 
with  the  flesh  of  its  inhabitants  than  the  meadow 
will  nourish  individuals.  But  if  this  be  true  of 
rivers,  it  is  much  truer  of  the  seashores,  whicli 
abound  with  such  immense  variety  of  fish  that  the 
curious  fisherman,  after  he  hath  made  his  draught, 

[303] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

often  culls  only  the  daintiest  part  and  leaves  the 
rest  of  his  prey  to  perish  on  the  shore. 

If  this  be  true  it  would  appear,  I  think,  that  there 
is  nothing  which  might  be  had  in  such  abundance, 
and  consequently  so  cheap,  as  fish,  of  which  Nature 
seems  to  have  provided  such  inexhaustible  stores  with 
some  peculiar  design.  In  the  production  of  ter- 
restrial animals  she  proceeds  with  such  slowness, 
that  in  the  larger  kind  a  single  female  seldom  pro- 
duces more  than  one  a-year,  and  this  again  requires 
three,  four,  or  five  years  more  to  bring  it  to  per- 
fection. And  though  the  lesser  quadrupeds,  those 
of  the  wild  kind  particularly,  with  the  birds,  do 
multiply  much  faster,  yet  can  'none  of  these  bear 
any  proportion  with  the  aquatic  animals,  of  whom 
every  female  matrix  is  furnished  with  an  annual  off- 
spring almost  exceeding  the  power  of  numbers,  and 
V  hich,  in  many  instances  at  least,  a  single  year  is 
capable  of  bringing  to  some  degree  of  maturity. 

What  then  ought  in  general  to  be  so  plentiful, 
what  so  cheap,  as  fish  ?  What  then  so  properly  the 
food  of  the  poor  ?  So  in  many  places  they  are,  and 
so  might  they  always  be  in  great  cities,  which  are 
always  situated  near  the  sea,  or  on  the  conflux  of 
large  rivers.  How  comes  it  then,  to  look  no  farther 
abroad  for  instances,  that  in  our  city  of  London  the 
case  is  so  far  otlierwise  that,  except  that  of  sprats, 
there  is  not  one  poor  palate  in  a  hundred  that  knows 
the  taste  of  fish  ? 

It  is  true  indeed  that  this  taste  is  generally  of  such 
excellent  flavour  that  it  exceeds  the  power  of  French 
cookery  to  treat  the  palates  of  the  rich  with  anything 

[304] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

more  exquisitely  delicate  ;  so  that  was  fish  the  com- 
mon food  of  the  poor  it  might  put  them  too  much 
upon  an  equality  with  their  betters  in  the  great 
article  of  eating,  in  which,  at  present,  in  the  opinion 
of  some,  the  great  difference  in  happiness  between 
man  and  man  consists.  But  this  argument  I  shall 
treat  with  the  utmost  disdain  :  for  if  ortolans  were 
as  big  as  bustards,  and  at  the  same  time  as  plenty 
as  sparrows,  I  should  hold  it  yet  reasonable  to  in- 
dulge the  poor  with  the  dainty,  and  that  for  this 
cause  especially,  that  the  rich  would  soon  find  a 
sparrow,  if  as  scarce  as  an  ortolan,  to  be  much  the 
greater,  as  it  would  certainly  be  the  rarer,  dainty  of 
the  two. 

Vanity  or  scarcity  will  be  always  the  favourite  of 
luxury  ;  but  honest  hunger  will  be  satisfied  with 
plenty.  Not  to  search  deeper  into  the  cause  of  the 
evil,  I  should  think  it  abundantly  sufficient  to  pro- 
pose the  remedies  of  it.  And,  first,  I  humbly  sub- 
mit the  absolute  necessity  of  immediately  hanging 
all  the  fishmongers  within  the  bills  of  mortality ; 
and,  however  it  might  have  been  some  time  ago  the 
opinion  of  mild  and  temporizing  men  that  the  evil 
complained  of  might  be  removed  by  gentler  methods, 
1  suppose  at  this  day  there  are  none  who  do  not  see 
the  impossibility  of  using  such  with  any  effect. 
Cuncta  priiLS  tentanda  might  have  been  formerly 
urged  with  some  plausibility,  but  cuncta  pr'm^ 
tentata  may  now  be  replied  :  for  surely,  if  a  few 
monopolizing  fishmongers  could  defeat  that  excel- 
lent scheme  of  the  Westminster  market,  to  the  erect- 
ing which  so  many  justices  of  peace,  as  well  as  other 
VOL.  I.  —  20  [  305  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

wise  and  learned  men,  did  so  vehemently  apply  them- 
selves, that  they  n)ig]it  be  truly  said  not  only  to 
have  laid  the  whole  strength  of  their  heads,  but  of 
their  shoulders  too,  to  the  business,  it  would  be  a 
vain  endeavour  for  any  other  body  of  men  to  at- 
tempt to   remove  so  stubborn  a  nusance. 

If  it  should  be  doubted  whether  we  can  bring  this 
case  within  the  letter  of  any  capital  law  now  subsist- 
ing, I  am  ashamed  to  own  it  cannot ;  for  surely  no 
crime  better  deserves  such  punishment ;  but  the 
remedy  may,  nevertheless,  be  immediate ;  and  if  a 
law  was  made  at  the  beginning  of  next  session,  to 
take  place  immediately,  by  which  the  starving  thou- 
sands of  poor  was  declared  to  be  felony,  without 
benefit  of  clergy,  the  fishmongers  would  be  hanged 
before  the  end  of  the  session. 

A  second  method  of  filling  the  mouths  of  the  poor, 
if  not  with  loaves  at  least  with  fishes,  is  to  desire  the 
magistrates  to  carry  into  execution  one  at  least  out 
of  near  a  hundred  acts  of  parliament,  for  preserving 
the  small  fry  of  the  river  of  Thames,  by  which  means 
as  few  fish  would  satisfy  thousands  as  may  now  be 
devoured  by  a  small  number  of  individuals.  But 
while  a  fisherman  can  break  through  the  strongest 
meshes  of  an  act  of  parliament,  we  may  be  assured 
he  will  learn  so  to  contrive  his  own  meshes  that  the 
smallest  fry  will  not  be  able  to  swim  through  them. 

Other  methods  may,  we  doubt  not,  be  suggested 
by  those  who  shall  attentively  consider  the  evil  here 
hinted  at ;  but  we  have  dwelt  too  long  on  it  already, 
and  shall  conclude  with  observing  that  it  is  difficult 
to  affirm  whether  the  atrocity  of  the  evil  itself,  the 

[306] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

facility  of  curing  it,  or  the  sliameful  neglect  of  the 
cure,  be  the  more  scandalous  or  more  astonishing. 

After  having,  however,  gloriously  regaled  myself 
with  this  food,  I  was  washing  it  down  with  some 
good  claret  with  my  wife  and  her  friend,  in  the 
cabin,  when  the  captain\s  valet-de-chambre,  head 
cook,  house  and  ship  steward,  footman  in  livery  and 
out  on 't,  secretary  and  fore-mast  man,  all  burst  into 
the  cabin  at  once,  being,  indeed,  all  but  one  person, 
and,  without  saying  by  your  leave,  began  to  pack 
half  a  hogshead  of  small  beer  in  bottles,  the  neces- 
sary consequence  of  which  must  have  been  either 
a  total  stop  to  conversation  at  that  chearful  season 
when  it  is  most  agreeable,  or  the  admitting  that 
polyonymous  officer  aforesaid  to  the  participation 
of  it.  I  desired  him  therefore  to  delay  his  purpose 
a  little  longer,  but  he  refused  to  grant  my  re(|uest; 
nor  was  he  prevailed  on  to  quit  the  room  till  he  was 
threatened  with  having  one  bottle  to  pack  more  than 
his  number,  which  then  happened  to  stand  empty 
within  my  reach. 

With  these  menaces  he  retired  at  last,  but  not 
without  muttering  some  menaces  on  his  side,  and 
which,  to  our  great  terror,  he  failed  not  to  put  into 
immediate  execution. 

Our  captain  was  gone  to  dinner  this  day  with  his 
Swiss  brother ;  and,  though  he  was  a  very  sober 
man,  was  a  little  elevated  with  some  champagne, 
which,  as  it  cost  the  Swiss  little  or  nothing,  lie  dis- 
pensed at  his  table  more  liberally  than  our  hospi- 
table English  noblemen  put  about  those  bottles,  which 
the  ingenious  Peter  Tavlor  teaches  a  led  captain  to 

["307  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

avoid  by  distinguishing  by  the  name  of  that  gener- 
ous licjuor,  which  all  humble  companions  are  taught 
to  postpone  to  the  flavour  of  methuen,  or  honest 
port. 

While  our  two  captains  were  thus  regaling  them- 
selves, and  celebrating  their  own  heroic  exploits  with 
all  the  inspiration  which  the  liquor,  at  least,  of  wit 
could  afford  them,  the  polyonymous  officer  arrived, 
and,  being  saluted  by  the  name  of  Honest  Tom,  was 
ordered  to  sit  down  and  take  his  glass  before  he  de- 
livered his  message ;  for  every  sailor  is  by  turns  his 
captain'^s  mate  over  a  cann,  except  only  that  captain 
bashaw  who  presides  in  a  man-of-war,  and  who  upon 
earth  has  no  other  mate,  unless  it  be  another  of  the 
same  bashaws. 

Tom  had  no  sooner  swallowed  his  draught  than 
he  hastily  began  his  narrative,  and  faithfully  related 
what  had  happened  on  board  our  ship ;  we  say  faith- 
fully, though  from  what  happened  it  may  be  sus- 
pected that  Tom  chose  to  add  perhaps  only  five  or 
six  immaterial  circumstances,  as  is  always  I  believe 
the  ceuse,  and  may  possibly  have  been  done  by  me 
in  relating  this  very  story,  though  it  happened  not 
many  hours  ago. 

No  sooner  was  the  captain  informed  of  the  inter- 
ruption which  had  been  given  to  his  officer,  and 
indeed  to  his  orders,  for  he  thought  no  time  so  con- 
venient as  that  of  his  absence  for  causing  any  confu- 
sion in  the  cabin,  than  he  leapt  with  such  haste  from 
his  chair  that  he  had  like  to  have  broke  his  sword, 
with  which  he  always  begirt  himself  when  he  walked 
out  of  his  ship,  and  sometimes  when  he  walked  about 

[308] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

in  it ;  at  the  same  time,  grasping  eagerly  that  other 
implement  called  a  cockade,  which  modern  soldiers 
wear  on  their  helmets  with  the  same  view  as  the  an- 
tients  did  their  crests  —  to  terrify  the  enemv,  he 
muttered  something,  but  so  inarticulately  that  the 
word  damn  was  only  intelligible ;  he  then  hastily 
took  leave  of  the  Swiss  captain,  who  was  too  well 
bred  to  press  his  stay  on  such  an  occasion,  and 
leapt  first  from  the  ship  to  his  boat,  and  then 
from  his  boat  to  his  own  ship,  with  as  much  fierce- 
ness in  his  looks  as  he  had  ever  expressed  on  board- 
ing his  defenceless  prey  in  the  honourable  calling  of 
a  privateer. 

Having  regained  the  middle  deck,  he  paused  a 
moment  while  Tom  and  others  loaded  themselves 
with  bottles,  and  then  descending  into  the  cabin  ex- 
claimed with  a  thundering  voice,  "  D — n  me,  why 
arn't  the  bottles  stoed  in,  according  to  my  orders?'' 

I  answered  him  very,  mildly  that  I  had  prevented 
his  man  from  doing  it,  as  it  was  at  an  inconvenient 
time  to  me,  and  as  in  his  absence,  at  least,  I  esteemed 
the  cabin  to  be  my  own.  "  Your  cabin  !  "  repeated 
he  many  times  ;  "  no,  d — n  me  !  't  is  my  cabin.  Your 
cabin  !  d — n  me  !  I  have  brought  my  hogs  to  a  fair 
market.  I  suppose  indeed  you  think  it  your  cabin, 
and  your  ship,  by  your  commanding  in  it ;  but  I  will 
conimand  in  it,  d — n  me !  I  will  shew  the  woi-ld 
I  am  the  commander,  and  nobody  but  I !  Did  vou 
think  I  sold  you  the  command  of  my  ship  for  that 
j)itiful  thirty  pounds  ?  I  wish  I  had  not  seen  vou 
nor  your  thii-ty  pounds  aboard  of  her."  He  then  re- 
peated the  words  thirty  pounds  often,  with  great  dis- 

*[  309  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

dain,  and  with  a  contempt  which  I  own  the  sum  did 
not  seem  to  deserve  in  my  eye,  either  in  itself  or  on 
the   present   occasion  ;    being,   indeed,  paid   for  the 

freight  of  weight   of  human    flesh,  which    is 

above  fifty  per  cent,  dearer  than  the  freight  of  any 
other  higgage,  whilst  in  really  it  takes  up  less  room  ; 
in  fact,  no  room  at  all. 

In  truth,  the  sum  was  paid  for  nothing  more  than 
for  a  liberty  to  six  persons  (two  of  them  servants)  to 
stay  on  board  a  ship  while  she  sails  from  one  port  to 
another,  every  shilling  of  which  comes  clear  into  the 
captain's  pocket.  Ignorant  people  may  perhaps  im- 
agine, especially  when  they  are  told  that  the  captain 
is  obliged  to  sustain  them,  that  their  diet  at  least  is 
worth  something,  which  may  probably  be  now  and 
then  so  far  the  case  as  to  deduct  a  tenth  part  from 
the  neat  profits  on  this  account ;  but  it  was  other- 
wise at  present ;  for  when  I  had  contracted  with  the 
captain  at  a  price  which  I  by  no  means  thought  mod- 
erate, I  had  some  content  in  thinking  I  should  have 
no  more  to  pay  for  my  voyage ;  but  I  was  w  hispered 
that  it  was  expected  the  passengers  should  find  them- 
selves in  several  things ;  such  as  tea,  wine,  and  such 
like;  and  particularly  that  gentlemen  should  stowe 
of  the  latter  a  much  larger  quantity  than  they  could 
use,  in  order  to  leave  tlie  remainder  as  a  present  to 
the  captain  at  the  end  of  the  voyage ;  and  it  was 
expected  likewise  that  gentlemen  should  put  aboard 
some  fresh  stores,  and  the  more  of  such  things  were 
put  aboard  the  welcomer  tliey  would  be  to  the 
captain. 

I  was  prevailed  with  bv  these  hints  to  follow  the 

[  310  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

advice  proposed  ;  and  accordingly,  besides  tea  and  a 
large  hamper  of  wine,  with  several  hams  and  tongues, 
I  caused  a  number  of  live  chickens  and  sheep  to  be 
convened  aboard  ;  in  truth,  treble  the  quantity  of  pro- 
visions which  would  have  supported  the  persons  I  took 
with  me,  had  the  voyage  continued  three  weeks,  as  it 
was  supposed,  with  a  bare  possibility,  it  might. 

Indeed  it  continued  much  longer  ;  but  as  this  was 
occasioned  by  our  being  wind-bound  in  our  own  ports, 
it  was  by  no  means  of  any  ill  consequence  to  the 
captain,  as  the  additional  stores  of  fish,  fresh  meat, 
butter,  bread.  Sec,  which  I  constantly  laid  in,  o-reatlv 
exceeded  the  consumption,  and  went  some  wav  in 
maintaining  the  ship's  crew.  It  is  true  I  was  not 
obliged  to  do  this  ;  but  it  seemed  to  be  expected  ;  for 
the  captain  did  not  think  himself  obliged  to  do  it,  and 
I  can  truly  say  I  soon  ceased  to  expect  it  of  him.  He 
had,  I  confess,  on  board  a  number  of  fowls  and  ducks 
sufficient  for  a  West  India  voyage  ;  all  of  them,  as  he 
often  said,  "  \'ery  fine  birds,  and  of  the  largest  breed." 
Tliis  I  believe  was  really  the  fact,  and  I  can  add  that 
they  were  all  arrived  at  the  full  perfection  of  their  size. 
Nor  was  there.  I  am  convinced,  any  want  of  provisions 
of  a  more  substantial  kind  ;  such  as  dried  beef,  pork, 
and  fish  ;  so  that  the  captain  seemed  ready  to  perform 
his  contract,  and  amply  to  provide  for  his  pa^ssengers. 
What  I  did  then  was  not  from  necessity,  but,  perhaps, 
from  a  less  excusable  motive,  and  was  bv  no  means 
chargeable  to  the  account  of  the  captain. 

But,  let  the  motive  have  been  what  it  would,  the 
consequence  was  still  the  same  ;  and  this  was  sucii  that 
I  am  firmly  persuaded  the  whole  pitiful  thirty  pounds 

[311] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

came  pure  and  neat  into  the  captain's  pocket,  and  not 
only  so,  but  attended  with  the  value  often  pound  more 
in  sundries  into  the  bargain.  I  must  confess  myself 
therefore  at  a  loss  how  the  epithet  pitiful  came  to  be 
annexed  to  the  above  sum  ;  for,  not  being  a  pitiful 
price  for  what  it  was  given,  I  cannot  conceive  it  to  be 
pitiful  in  itself;  nor  do  I  believe  it  is  thought  by  the 
greatest  men  in  the  kingdom ;  none  of  whom  would 
scruple  to  search  for  it  in  the  dirtiest  kennel,  where 
they  had  only  a  reasonable  hope  of  success. 

How,  therefore,  such  a  sum  should  acquire  the  idea 
of  pitiful  in  the  eyes  of  the  master  of  a  ship  seems  not 
easy  to  be  accounted  for  ;  since  it  appears  more  likely 
to  produce  in  him  ideas  of  a  different  kind.  Some 
men,  perhaps,  are  no  more  sincere  in  the  contempt  for 
it  which  they  express  than  others  in  their  contempt  of 
money  in  general ;  and  I  am  the  rather  inclined  to  this 
persuasion,  as  I  have  seldom  heard  of  either  who  have 
refused  or  refunded  this  their  despised  object.  Besides, 
it  is  sometimes  impossible  to  believe  these  professions, 
as  every  action  of  the  man's  life  is  a  contradiction  to  it. 
Who  can  believe  a  tradesman  who  says  he  would  not 
tell  his  name  for  the  profit  he  gets  by  the  selling  such 
a  parcel  of  goods,  when  he  hath  told  a  thousand  lies  in 
order  to  get  it  "^ 

Pitiful,  indeed,  is  often  applied  to  an  object  not 
absolutely,  but  comparatively  with  our  expectations, 
or  with  a  greater  object :  in  which  sense  it  is  not  easy 
to  set  any  bounds  to  the  use  of  the  word.  Thus,  a 
handful  of  halfpence  daily  appear  pitiful  to  a  porter, 
and  a  handful  of  silver  to  a  drawer.  The  latter,  I 
am  convinced,  at  a  polite  tavern,  will  not  tell  his 

[312] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

name  (for  he  will  not  give  you  any  answer)  under  the 
price  of  gold.  And  in  this  sense  thirty  pound  may 
be  accounted  pitiful  by  the  lowest  mechanic. 

One  difficulty  only  seems  to  occur,  and  that  is  this, 
how  comes  it  that,  if  the  profits  of  the  meanest  arts 
are  so  considerable,  the  professors  of  them  are  not 
richer  than  we  generally  see  them  ?  One  answer  to 
this  shall  suffice.  Men  do  not  become  rich  by  what 
they  get,  but  by  what  they  keep.  He  who  is  worth 
no  more  than  his  annual  wages  or  salary,  spends  the 
whole  ;  he  will  be  always  a  beggar  let  his  income  be 
what  it  v/ill,  and  so  will  be  his  family  when  he  dies. 
This  we  see  daily  to  be  the  case  of  ecclesiastics,  who, 
during  their  lives,  are  extremely  well  provided  for, 
only  because  they  desire  to  maintain  the  honour  of 
the  cloth  by  living  like  gentlemen,  which  would,  per- 
haps, be  better  maintained  by  living  unlike  them. 

But,  to  return  from  so  long  a  digression,  to  which 
the  use  of  so  improper  an  epithet  gave  occasion,  and 
to  which  the  novelty  of  the  subject  allured,  I  will 
make  the  reader  amends  by  concisely  telling  him  that 
the  captain  poured  forth  such  a  torrent  of  abuse  that 
I  very  hastily  and  very  foolishly  resolved  to  quit  the 
ship.  I  gave  immediate  orders  to  summon  a  hoy  to 
carry  me  that  evening  to  Dartmouth,  without  consid- 
ering any  consequence.  Those  orders  I  gave  in  no 
very  low  voice,  so  that  those  above  stairs  might  pos- 
sibly conceive  there  was  more  than  one  master  in  the 
cabin.  In  the  same  tone  I  likewise  threatened  the 
captain  with  that  which,  he  afterwards  said,  he  feared 
more  than  any  rock  or  quicksand.  Nor  can  we  wonder 
at  this  when  we  are  told  he  had  been  twice  obliged  to 

[  ^13  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

brincr  to  and  cast  anchor  there  before,  and  had  neither 
time  escaped  without  the  loss  of  almost  his  whole 
cargo. 

The  most  distant  sound  of  law  thus  frightened  a 
man  who  had  often,  I  am  convinced,  heard  numbers 
of  cannon  roar  round  him  with  intrepidity.  Nor  did 
he  sooner  see  the  hoy  approaching  the  vessel  than  he 
ran  down  again  into  the  cabin,  and,  his  rage  being 
perfectly  subsided,  he  tumbled  on  his  knees,  and  a 
little  too  abjectly  implored  for  mercy. 

I  did  not  suffer  a  brave  man  and  an  old  man  to 
remain  a  moment  in  this  posture,  but  I  immediately 
forgave  him. 

And  here,  that  I  may  not  be  thought  the  sly 
trumpeter  of  my  own  praises,  I  do  utterly  disclaim 
all  praise  on  tlie  occasion.  Neither  did  the  greatness 
of  my  mind  dictate,  nor  tlie  force  of  my  Christianity 
exact,  this  forgiveness.  To  speak  truth,  I  forgave 
him  from  a  motive  which  would  make  men  much  more 
forgiving  if  they  were  much  wiser  than  they  are, 
because  it  was  convenient  for  me  so  to  do. 

Wednesdaij.  —  This  morning  the  captain  drest  him- 
self in  scarlet  in  order  to  pay  a  visit  to  a  Devon- 
shire squire,  to  whom  a  captain  of  a  ship  is  a  guest 
of  no  ordinary  consequence,  as  he  is  a  stranger  and  a 
gentleman,  who  hath  seen  a  great  deal  of  the  world 
in  foreign  parts,  and  knows  all  the  news  of  the 
times. 

The  squire,  therefore,  was  to  send  his  boat  for  the 
captain,  but  a  most  unfortunate  accident  happened; 
for,  as  the  wind  was  extremelv  rough  and  against  the 
hov,  while  this  was  endeavouring  to  avail  itself  of 

[  314  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

great  seamanship  in  bawling  up  against  the  wind,  a 
sudden  squall  carried  off  sail  and  yard,  or  at  least  so 
disabled  them  that  they  were  no  longer  of  any  use 
and  unable  to  reach  the  ship  ;  but  the  captain,  from 
the  deck,  saw  his  hopes  of  venison  disappointed,  and 
was  forced  either  to  stay  on  board  his  ship,  or  to 
hoist  forth  his  own  long-boat,  which  he  could  not 
prevail  with  himself  to  think  of,  though  the  smell  of 
the  venison  had  had  twenty  times  its  attraction.  He 
did,  indeed,  love  his  ship  as  his  wife,  and  his  boats  as 
children,  and  never  willingly  trusted  the  latter,  poor 
things  !  to  the  dangers  of  the  seas. 

To  say  truth,  notwithstanding  the  strict  rigour 
with  which  he  preserved  the  dignity  of  his  station, 
and  the  hasty  impatience  with  which  he  resented 
any  affront  to  his  person  or  orders,  disobedience  to 
which  he  could  in  no  instance  brook  in  any  person 
on  board,  he  was  one  of  the  best  natured  fellows 
alive.  He  acted  the  part  of  a  father  to  his  sailors  ; 
he  expressed  great  tenderness  for  any  of  them  when 
ill,  and  never  suffered  any  the  least  work  of  super- 
erogation to  go  unrewarded  bv  a  glass  of  gin.  He 
even  extended  his  humanity,  if  I  may  so  call  it,  to 
animals,  and  even  his  cats  and  kittens  had  large 
shares  in  his  affections.  An  instance  of  which  we 
saw  this  evening,  when  the  cat,  which  had  shewn  it 
could  not  be  drowned,  was  found  suffocated  under  a 
feather-bed  in  the  cabin.  I  will  not  endeavour  to 
describe  his  lamentations  with  more  prolixity  than 
barely  by  saving  they  were  grievous,  and  seemed  to 
have  some  mixture  of  the  Irish  howl  in  them.  Nay, 
he  carried  his  fondness  even  to  inanimate  objects,  of 

[  315  1 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

which  we  have  above  set  down  a  pregnant  example 
in  his  demonstration  of  love  and  tenderness  towards 
his  boats  and  ship.  He  spoke  of  a  ship  which  he 
had  commanded  formerly,  and  which  was  long  since 
no  more,  which  he  had  called  the  Princess  of  Brazil, 
as  a  widower  of  a  deceased  wife.  This  ship,  after 
having  followed  the  honest  business  of  carrying  goods 
and  passengers  for  hire  many  years,  did  at  last  take 
to  evil  courses  and  turn  privateer,  in  which  service, 
to  use  his  own  words,  she  received  many  dreadful 
wounds,  which  he  himself  had  felt  as  if  they  had 
been  his  own. 

Thursdaij.  —  As  the  wind  did  not  yesterday  dis- 
cover any, purpose  of  shifting,  and  the  water  in  my 
belly  grew  troublesome  and  rendered  me  short- 
breathed,  I  began  a  second  time  to  have  apprehen- 
sions of  wanting:  the  assistance  of  a  trochar  when 
none  was  to  be  found  ;  I  therefore  concluded  to  be 
tapped  again  by  way  of  precaution,  and  accordingly 
I  this  morning  summoned  on  board  a  surgeon  from 
a  neighbouring  parish,  one  whom  the  captain  greatly 
recommended,  and  who  did  indeed  perform  his 
office  with  much  dexterity.  He  was,  I  believe,  like- 
wise a  man  of  great  judgment  and  knowledge  in  the 
profession  ;  but  of  this  I  cannot  speak  with  perfect 
certainty,  for,  wlien  he  was  going  to  open  on  the 
dropsy  at  large  and  on  the  particular  degree  of  the 
distemper  under  which  I  laboured,  I  was  obliged  to 
stop  him  short,  for  the  wind  was  changed,  and  the 
captain  in  the  utmost  hurry  to  depart ;  and  to  de- 
sire him,  instead  of  his  opinion,  to  assist  me  with  his 
execution. 

[316] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

I  was  now  once  more  delivered  from  my  burthen, 
which  was  not  indeed  so  great  as  I  had  appreliended, 
wanting  two  quarts  of  what  was  let  out  at  the  last 
operation. 

While  the  surgeon  was  drawing  away  my  water 
the  sailors  were  drawing  up  the  anchor  ;  both  were 
finished  at  the  same  time  ;  we  unfurled  our  sails  and 
soon  passed  the  Berry-head,  which  forms  the  mouth 
of  the  bay. 

We  had  not  however  sailed  far  when  the  wind, 
which  had,  though  with  a  slow  pace,  kept  us  com- 
pany about  six  miles,  suddenly  turned  about,  and 
offered  to  conduct  us  back  again  ;  a  favour  which, 
though  sorely  against  the  grain,  we  were  obliged  to 
accept. 

Nothing  remarkable  happened  this  day  ;  for  as  to 
the  firm  persuasion  of  the  captain  that  he  was  under 
the  spell  of  witchcraft,  I  would  not  repeat  it  too  often, 
though  indeed  he  repeated  it  an  hundi'ed  times  every 
day ;  in  truth,  he  talked  of  nothing  else,  and  seemed 
not  only  to  be  satisfied  in  general  of  his  being  be- 
witched, but  actually  to  have  fixed  with  good  cer- 
tainty on  the  person  of  the  witch,  whom,  had  he 
lived  in  the  days  of  Sir  Matthew  Hale,  he  would  have 
infallibly  indicted,  and  very  possibly  have  hanged, 
for  the  detestable  sin  of  witchcraft ;  but  that  law, 
and  the  whole  doctrine  that  supported  it,  are  now 
out  of  fashion  ;  and  witches,  as  a  learned  divine  once 
chose  to  express  himself,  are  put  down  by  act  of  par- 
liament. This  witch,  in  the  captain's  opinion,  was 
no  other  than  Mrs.  Irancis  of  Ryde,  who,  as  he  in- 
sinuated, out  of  anger  to  mc  for  not  spending  more 

[  sn  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

monev  in  her  house  than  slie  could  produce  anything 
to  exchange  for,  or  any  pretence  to  charge  for,  had 
laid  this  spell  on  his  ship. 

Though  we  were  again  got  near  our  harbour  by 
three  in  the  afternoon,  yet  it  seemed  to  require  a  full 
hour  or  more  before  we  could  come  to  our  former 
place  of  anchoring,  or  berth,  as  the  captain  called  it. 

On  this  occasion  we  exemplified  one  of  the  few  ad- 
vantages which  the  travellers  by  water  have  over  the 
travellers  by  land.  What  would  the  latter  often  give 
for  the  sight  of  one  of  those  hospitable  mansions  where 
he  is  assured  that  there  is  good  entertainment  for  man 
and  horse  ;  and  where  both  may  consequently  promise 
themselves  to  assuage  that  hunger  which  exercise  is 
so  sure  to  raise  in  a  healthy  constitution. 

At  their  arrival  at  this  mansion,  how  much  happier 
is  the  state  of  the  horse  than  that  of  the  master  ! 
The  former  is  immediately  led  to  his  repast,  such  as  it 
is,  and,  whatever  it  is,  he  falls  to  it  with  appetite. 
But  the  latter  is  in  a  much  worse  situation.  His 
hunger,  however  violent,  is  always  in  some  degree 
delicate,  and  his  food  must  have  some  kind  of  orna- 
ment, or,  as  the  more  usual  pfirase  is,  of  dressing,  to 
recommend  it.  Now  all  dressing  requires  time,  and 
therefore,  though  perhaps  the  sheep  might  be  just 
■killed  before  you  came  to  the  inn,  yet  in  cutting  him 
up,  fetching  the  joint,  which  the  landlord  by  mistake 
said  he  had  in  the  house,  ft'om  the  butcher  at  two 
miles'  distance,  and  afterwards  warming  it  a  little  by 
the  fire,  two  hours  at  least  must  be  consumed,  while 
hunger,  for  want  of  better  food,  preys  all  the  time  on 
the  vitals  of  the  man. 

[318  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

How  diffei'ent  was  the  case  with  us !  we  carried 
our  provision,  our  kitchen,  and  our  cook  with  us,  and 
we  were  at  one  and  the  same  time  travelling  on  our 
road,  and  sitting  down  to  a  repast  of  fish,  with  which 
the  greatest  table  in  London  can  scarce  at  any  rate 
be  supplied. 

Friday.  —  As  we  were  disappointed  of  our  wind, 
and  obliged  to  return  back  the  preceding  evening,  we 
resolved  to  extract  all  the  good  we  could  out  of 
our  misfortune,  and  to  add  considerably  to  our  fresh 
stores  of  meat  and  bread,  with  which  we  were  very  in- 
differently provided  when  we  hurried  away  yesterday. 
By  the  captain's  advice  we  likewise  laid  in  some 
stores  of  butter,  which  we  salted  and  potted  our- 
selves, for  our  use  at  Lisbon,  and  we  had  great  reason 
afterwards  to  thank  him  for  his  advice. 

In  the  afternoon  I  persuaded  my  wife,  whom  it  w^as 
no  easy  matter  for  me  to  force  from  my  side,  to  take  a 
walk  on  shore,  whither  the  gallant  captain  declared 
he  was  ready  to  attend  her.  Accordingly  the  ladies 
set  out,  and  let  me  to  enjoy  a  sweet  and  comfortable 
nap  after  the  operation  of  the  preceding  day. 

Thus  we  enjoyed  our  separate  pleasures  full  three 
hours,  when  we  met  again,  and  my  wife  gave  the 
foregoing  account  of  the  gentleman  whom  I  have 
before  compared  to  Axylus,  and  of  liis  habitation,  to 
both  which  she  had  been  introduced  by  the  captain, 
in  the  stile  of  an  old  friend  and  acciuaintance,  though 
this  foundation  of  intimacy  seemed  to  her  to  be  no 
deeper  laid  than  in  an  accidental  dinner,  eaten  many 
years  before,  at  this  temple  of  hospitality,  when  the 
captain  lay  wind-bound  in  the  same  bay. 

[319  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

Saturday.  —  Early  this  morning  the  wind  seemed 
indined  to  change  in  our  favour.  Our  alert  captain 
snatched  its  very  first  motion,  and  got  under  sail 
with  so  very  gentle  a  breeze  that,  as  the  tide  was 
against  him,  he  recommended  to  a  fishing  hoy  to 
bring  after  him  a  vast  salmon  and  some  other  pro- 
visions which  lay  ready  for  him  on  shore. 

Our  anchor  was  up  at  six,  and  before  nine  in  the 
morning  we  had  doubled  the  Berry-head,  and  were 
arrived  off  Dartmouth,  having  gone  full  three  miles 
in  as  many  hours,  in  direct  opposition  to  the  tide, 
which  only  befriended  us  out  of  our  harbour ;  and 
though  the  wind  was  perhaps  our  friend,  it  was  so 
very  silent,  and  exerted  itself  so  little  in  our  favour, 
that,  like  some  cool  partisans,  it  was  difficult  to  say 
whether  it  was  with  us  or  against  us.  The  captain, 
however,  declared  the  former  to  be  the  case  during 
the  whole  three  hours ;  but  at  last  he  perceived  his 
error,  or  rather,  perhaps,  this  friend,  which  had 
hitherto  wavered  in  chusing  his  side,  be(;ame  now 
more  determined.  The  captain  then  suddenly 
tacked  about,  and,  asserting  that  he  was  bewitched, 
submitted  to  return  to  the  place  from  whence  he 
came.  Now,  though  I  am  as  free  from  superstition 
as  any  man  breathing,  and  never  did  believe  in 
witches,  notwithstanding  all  the  excellent  arguments 
of  my  lord  chief-justice  Hale  in  their  favour,  and 
long  before  they  were  put  down  by  act  of  parlia- 
ment, yet  by  what  power  a  ship  of  burthen  should 
sail  three  miles  against  both  wind  and  tide,  I  cannot 
conceive,  unless  there  was  some  supernatural  inter- 
position ill  the  case  ;  nay,  could  we  admit  that  the 

[320] 


A.    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

wind  stood  neuter,  the  difficulty  would  still  remain. 
So  that  we  must  of  necessity  conclude  that  the  ship 
was  either  bewinded  or  bewitched. 

The  captain,  perhaps,  had  another  meaning.  He 
imagined  himself,  I  believe,  bewitched,  because  the 
wind,  instead  of  persevering  in  its  change  in  his 
favour,  for  change  it  certainly  did  that  morning, 
sliould  suddenly  return  to  its  favourite  station,  and 
blow  him  back  towards  the  bay.  But,  if  this  was 
his  opinion,  he  soon  saw  cause  to  alter ;  for  he  had 
not  measured  half  the  way  back  when  the  wind 
again  declared  in  his  favour,  and  so  loudly,  that 
there  was  no  possibility  of  being  mistaken. 

The  orders  for  the  second  tack  were  given,  and 
obeyed  with  much  more  alacrity  than  those  had 
been  for  the  first.  We  were  all  of  us  indeed  in  high 
spirits  on  the  occasion  ;  though  some  of  us  a  little 
regretted  the  good  things  we  were  likely  to  leave 
behind  us  by  the  fislierman"'s  neglect ;  I  might  give 
it  a  worse  name,  for  he  faithfully  promised  to  exe- 
cute the  commission,  which  he  had  had  abundant 
opportunity  to  do ;  but  nautica  Jides  deserves  as 
much  to  be  proverbial  as  ever  Punica  Jides  could 
formerly  have  done.  Nay,  when  we  consider  that 
the  Carthaginians  came  from  the  Phenicians,  who  are 
supposed  to  have  produced  the  first  mariners,  we 
may  probably  see  the  true  reason  of  the  adage,  and 
it  may  open  a  field  of  very  curious  discoveries  to 
the  antiquarian. 

We  were,  however,  too  eager  to  pursue  our  voy- 
age to  suffer  anything  we  left  behind  us  to  interrupt 
our  happiness,  which,  indeed,  many  agreeable  circum- 

VOL.  I.-21  [321] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

stances  conspired  to  advance.  The  weather  was  in- 
expressibly pleasant,  and  we  were  all  seated  on  the 
deck,  when  our  canvas  began  to  swell  with  the  wind. 
We  had  likewise  in  our  view  above  thirty  other  sail 
around  us,  all  in  the  same  situation.  Here  an  ob- 
servation occurred  to  me,  which,  perhaps,  though 
extremely  obvious,  did  not  offer  itself  to  every  in- 
dividual in  our  little  fleet :  when  I  perceived  with 
what  different  success  we  proceeded  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  superior  power,  which,  while  we  lay 
almost  idle  ourselves,  pushed  us  forward  on  our  in- 
tended voyage,  and  compared  this  with  the  slow 
progress  which  we  had  made  in  the  morning,  of 
ourselves,  and  without  any  such  assistance,  I  could 
not  help  reflecting  how  often  the  greatest  abilities 
lie  wind-bound  as  it  were  in  life  ;  or,  if  they  venture 
out  and  attempt  to  beat  the  seas,  they  struggle  in 
vain  against  wind  and  tide,  and,  if  they  have  not 
sufficient  prudence  to  put  back,  are  most  probably 
cast  away  on  the  rocks  and  quicksands  which  are 
every  day  ready  to  devour  them. 

It  was  now  our  fortune  to  set  out  mel'iorihus  avibus. 
The  wind  freshened  so  briskly  in  our  poop  that  the 
shore  appeared  to  move  from  us  as  fast  as  we  did 
from  the  shore.  The  captain  declared  he  was  sure 
of  a  wind,  meaning  its  continuance  ;  but  he  had  dis- 
appointed us  so  often  that  he  had  lost  all  credit. 
However,  he  kept  his  word  a  little  better  now,  and 
we  lost  sight  of  our  native  land  as  joyfully,  at  least, 
as  it  is  usual  to  regain  it. 

Sunday.  —  The  next  morning  the  captain  told  me 
he  thought  himself  thirty  miles  to  the  westward  of 

[322] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

Plymouth,  and  before  evening  declared  that  the 
Lizard  Point,  which  is  the  extremity  of  Cornwall, 
bore  several  leagues  to  leeward.  Nothing  remark- 
able passed  this  day,  except  the  captain's  devotion, 
who,  in  his  own  phrase,  summoned  all  hands  to 
prayers,  which  were  read  by  a  common  sailor  upon 
deck,  with  more  devout  force  and  address  than 
they  are  commonly  read  by  a  country  curate,  and 
received  with  more  decency  and  attention  by  the 
sailors  than  are  usually  preserved  in  city  congrega- 
tions. I  am  indeed  assured,  that  if  any  such  affected 
disreo-ard  of  the  solemn  office  in  which  they  were 
engaged,  as  I  have  seen  practised  by  fine  gentlemen 
and  ladies,  expressing  a  kind  of  apprehension  lest 
they  should  be  suspected  of  being  really  in  earnest 
in  their  devotion,  had  been  shewn  here,  they  would 
have  contracted  the  contempt  of  the  whole  audience. 
To  say  the  truth,  fron)  what  I  observed  in  the  be- 
haviour of  the  sailors  in  this  voyage,  and  on  com- 
paring it  with  what  I  have  formerly  seen  of  them  at 
sea  and  on  shore,  I  am  convinced  that  on  land  there 
is  nothinsj  more  idle  and  dissolute  ;  in  their  own  ele- 
ment  there  are  no  persons  near  the  level  of  their 
degree  who  live  in  the  constant  practice  of  half 
so  many  good  qualities.  They  are,  for  much  the 
greater  part,  perfect  masters  of  their  business,  and 
always  extremely  alert,  and  ready  in  executing  it, 
without  any  regard  to  fatigue  or  hazard.  The  sol- 
diers themselves  are  not  belter  disciplined  nor  more 
obedient  to  orders  than  these  wliilst  aboard ;  they 
submit  to  every  difficulty  which  attends  their  calling 
with  chearfulness,  and  no  less  virtues  and  patience 

[323] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

and   fortitude  tire  exercised  by  them   every  day   of 

their  lives. 

All  these  good  qualities,  however,  they  always 
leave  behind  them  on  shipboard  ;  the  sailor  out  of 
water  is,  indeed,  as  wretched  an  animal  as  the  fisli 
out  of  water ;  for  though  the  former  hath,  in  com- 
mon with  amphibious  animals,  the  bare  power  of 
existing  on  the  land,  yet  if  he  be  kept  there  any 
time  he  never  fails  to  become  a  nuisance. 

The  ship  having  had  a  good  deal  of  motion  since 
she  was  last  under  sail,  our  women  returned  to  their 
sickness,  and  I  to  my  solitude  ;  having,  for  twenty- 
four  hours  together,  scarce  opened  my  lips  to  a  single 
person.  This  circumstance  of  being  shut  up  within 
the  circumference  of  a  few  yards,  with  a  score  of 
human  creatures,  with  not  one  of  whom  it  was  pos- 
sible to  converse,  was  perhaps  so  rare  as  scarce  ever 
to  have  happened  before,  nor  could  it  ever  happen 
to  one  who  disliked  it  more  than  myself,  or  to  my- 
self at  a  season  when  I  wanted  more  food  for  my 
social  disposition,  or  could  converse  less  wholesomely 
and  happily  with  my  own  thoughts.  To  this  acci- 
dent, which  fortune  opened  to  me  in  the  Downs,  was 
owiniT  the  first  serious  thought  which  I  ever  enter- 
tained  of  enrolling  myself  among  the  voyage- writers ; 
some  of  the  most  amusing  pages,  if,  indeed,  there  be 
any  which  deserve  that  name,  were  possibly  the  pro- 
duction of  the  most  disagreeable  hours  which  ever 
haunted   the   author. 

Monday. — At  noon  the  captain  took  an  observa- 
tion, by  which  it  appeared  that  Ushant  bore  some 
leagues  northward  of  us,  and  that  we  were  just  enter- 

[324] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

ing  the  bav  of  Biscay.  We  had  advanced  a  very  few 
miles  in  this  bay  before  we  were  entirely  becalmed : 
we  furled  our  sails,  as  being  of  no  use  to  us  while 
we  lay  in  this  most  disagreeable  situation,  more  de- 
tested by  the  sailors  than  the  most  violent  tempest : 
we  were  alarmed  with  the  loss  of  a  fine  piece  of  salt 
beef,  which  had  been  hung  in  the  sea  to  freshen  it ; 
this  being',  it  seems,  the  strange  property  of  salt- 
water. The  thief  was  immediately  suspected,  and 
presently  afterwards  taken  by  the  sailors.  He  was, 
indeed,  no  other  than  a  huge  shari<,  who,  not  know- 
ing when  he  was  well  off,  swallowed  another  piece  of 
beef,  together  with  a  great  iron  crook  on  which  it  was 
hung,  and  by  which  he  was  dragged  into  the  ship. 

I  should  scarce  have  mentioned  the  catching  this 
shark,  though  so  exactly  conformable  to  the  rules  and 
practice  of  voyage-writing,had  it  not  been  for  a  strange 
circumstance  that  attended  it.  This  was  the  recovery 
of  the  stolen  beef  out  of  the  shark*'s  maw,  where  it  lay 
unchewed  and  undigested,  and  whence,  being  conveyed 
into  the  pot,  the  flesh,  and  the  thief  that  had  stolen 
it,  joined  together  in  furnishing  variety  to  the  ship's 
crew. 

During  this  calm  we  likewise  found  the  mast  of  a 
large  vessel,  which  the  captain  thoughthad  lain  at  least 
three  years  in  the  sea.  It  was  stuck  all  over  with  a 
little  shell-fish  or  reptile,  called  a  barnacle,  and  which 
probably  are  the  prey  of  the  rock-fish,  as  our  captain 
calls  it,  asserting  that  it  is  the  finest  fish  in  the  world  ; 
for  which  we  are  obliged  to  confide  entirely  to  his 
taste ;  for,  though  he  struck  the  fish  with  a  kind  of 
harping-iron,  and  wounded  him,  I  am  convinced,  to 

[325  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

death,  yet  he  conld  not  possc.-.s  him  elf  of  his  body  ; 
but  the  poor  wretcli  escaped  to  linger  out  a  ^aw  hours 
with  probably  great  torments. 

In  the  evening  our  wind  returned,  and  so  briskly, 
that  we  lan  upwards  of  twenty  leagues  before  the  next 
da\'''ii[Tties(Ia?/''s]  observation,  which  brought  us  to  lat. 
47°  4^'.  The  captain  promised  us  a  very  speedy 
passage  through  the  bay  ;  but  he  deceived  us,  or  the 
wind  deceived  him,  for  it  so  slackened  at  sunset,  that 
it  scarce  carried  us  a  mile  in  an  hour  during  the  whole 
succeeding  night. 

Wednesdaij.  —  A  gale  struck  up  a  little  after  sun- 
risinff,  which  carried  us  between  three  and  four  knots 
or  miles  an  hour.     We  were  this  day  at  noon  about 
the  middle  of  the  bay  of  Biscay,  when  the  wind  once 
more  deserted  us,  and  we  were  so  entirely  becalmed, 
that  we  did  not  advance  a  mile  in  many  hours.     My 
fresh-water  reader  will  perhaps  conceive  no  unpleasant 
idea  from  this  calm  ;  but  it  affected  us  much  more  than 
a  storm  could  have  done  ;  for,  as  the  irascible  passions 
of  men  are  apt  to  swell  with  indignation  long  after  the 
injury  which  first  raised  them  is  over,  so  fared  it  with 
the  sea.     It  rose  mountains  high,  and  lifted  our  poor 
ship  up  and  down,  backwards  and  forwards,  with  so 
violent  an  emotion,  that  there  was  scarce  a  man  in  the 
ship  better  able  to  stand  than  myself.     Every  utensil 
in  our  cabin  rolled  up  and  down,  as  we  should  have 
rolled  ourselves,  had  not  our  chairs  been  fast  lashed 
to  the  floor.     In  tliis  situation,  with  our  tables  like- 
wise fastened  by  ropes,  the  captain  and  myself  took 
our  meal  with  some  difficulty,  and  swallowed  a  little 
of  our  broth,  for  we  spilt  nuich   the  greater  part. 

[326] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

The  remainder  of  our  dinner  being  an  old,  lean,  tame 
duck  roasted,  I  regretted  but  little  the  loss  of,  my 
teeth  not  being  good  enougli  to  have  chewed  it. 

Our  women,  who  began  to  creep  out  of  their  holes 
in  the  morning,  retired  again  within  the  cabin  to 
their  beds,  and  were  no  moi-e  heard  of  this  day,  in 
which  my  whole  comfort  was  to  find  by  the  captain's 
relation  that  the  swelling  was  sometimes  much  worse  ; 
he  did,  indeed,  take  this  occasion  to  be  more  com- 
municative than  ever,  and  informed  me  of  such  mis- 
adventures that  had  befallen  him  within  forty-six 
years  at  sea  as  might  frighten  a  very  bold  spirit  from 
undertaking  even  the  shortest  voyage.  Were  these, 
indeed,  but  universally  known,  our  matrons  of  quality 
would  possibly  be  deterred  from  venturing  their  tender 
offspring  at  sea;  by  which  means  our  navy  would 
lose  the  honour  of  many  a  young  commodore,  who  at 
twenty-two  is  better  versed  in  maritime  affairs  than 
real  seamen  are  made  by  experience  at  sixty. 

And  this  may,  perhaps,  appear  the  more  extra- 
ordinary, as  the  education  of  both  seems  to  be  pretty 
much  the  same  ;  neither  of  them  having  had  their 
courage  tried  by  VirgiFs  description  of  a  storm,  in 
which,  inspired  as  he  was,  I  doubt  whether  our  cap- 
tain doth  not  exceed  him. 

In  the  evening  the  wind,  which  continued  in  the 
N.  W.,  again  freshened,  and  that  so  briskly  that 
Cape  Finisterre  appeared  by  this  day's  observation 
to  bear  a  few  miles  to  the  southward.  We  now  in- 
deed sailed,  or  rather  flew,  near  ten  knots  an  hour; 
and  the  captain,  in  the  redundancy  of  his  good- 
humour,  declared  he  would  go  to  church  at  Lisbon 

[327  j 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

on  Sunday  next,  for  that  he  was  sure  of  a  wind ;  andj 
indeed,  we  all  firmly  believed  him.  But  the  event 
again  contradicted  him  ;  for  we  were  again  visited 
bv  a  calm  in  the  evenincj. 

But  here,  though  our  voyage  was  retarded,  we  were 
entertained  with  a  scene,  which  as  no  one  can  behold 
without  going  to  sea,  so  no  one  can  form  an  idea  of 
anything  equal  to  it  on  shore.  We  were  seated  on 
the  deck,  women  and  all,  in  the  serenest  evening 
that  can  be  imagined.  Not  a  single  cloud  presented 
itself  to  our  view,  and  the  sun  himself  was  the  only 
object  which  engrossed  our  whole  attention.  He 
did  indeed  set  with  a  majesty  which  is  incapable  of 
description,  with  which,  while  the  horizon  was  yet 
blazing  with  glory,  our  eyes  were  called  off  to  the 
opposite  part  to  survey  the  moon,  which  was  then 
at  full,  and  which  in  rising  presented  us  with  the 
second  object  that  this  world  hath  offered  to  our 
vision.  Compared  to  these  the  pageantry  of  thea- 
tres, or  splendour  of  courts,  are  sights  almost  below 
the  regard  of  children. 

We  did  not  return  from  the  deck  till  late  in  the  even- 
ing ;  the  weather  being  inexpressibly  pleasant,  and  so 
warm  that  even  my  old  distemper  perceived  the  alter- 
ation of  the  climate.  There  was  indeed  a  swell,  but 
nothing  coniparable  to  what  we  had  felt  before,  and  it 
affected  us  on  the  deck  much  less  than  in  the  cabin. 

Friday.  — The  calm  continued  till  sun-rising,  when 
the  wind  likewise  arose,  but  unluckily  for  us  it  came 
from  a  wrong  quarter  ;  it  was  S.S.E.,  which  is  that 
Xery  wind  which  Juno  would  have  solicited  of  ^olus, 
had  JEneas  been  in  our  latitude  bound  for  Lisbon. 

[328  J 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

The  captain  now  put  on  his  most  melancholy  aspect, 
and  resumed  his  former  opinion  that  he  was  bewitched. 
He  declared  with  great  solenmity  that  this  was  worse 
and  worse,  for  that  a  wind  directly  in  his  teeth  was 
worse  than  no  wind  at  all.  Had  we  pursued  the 
course  which  the  wind  persuaded  us  to  take  we  had 
gone  directly  for  Newfoundland,  if  we  had  not  fallen 
in  with  Ireland  in  our  way.  Two  ways  remained  to 
avoid  this  ;  one  was  to  put  into  a  port  of  Galicia ; 
the  other,  to  beat  to  the  westward  with  as  little  sail 
as  possible  :  and  this  was  our  captain^s  election. 

As  for  us,  poor  passengers,  any  port  would  have 
been  welcome  to  us  ;  especially,  as  not  only  our  fresh 
provisions,  except  a  great  number  of  old  ducks  and 
fowls,  but  even  our  bread  was  come  to  an  end,  and 
nothing  but  sea-biscuit  remained,  which  I  could  not 
chew.  So  that  now  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I 
saw  what  it  was  to  want  a  bit  of  bread. 

The  wind  however  was  not  so  unkind  as  we  had 
apprehended  ;  but,  having  declined  with  the  sun,  it 
changed  at  the  approach  of  the  moon,  and  became 
again  favourable  to  us,  though  so  gentle  that  the 
next  day's  observation  carried  us  very  little  to  the 
southward  of  Cape  Finisterre.  This  evening  at  six 
the  wind,  which  had  been  very  quiet  all  day,  rose  very 
high,  and  continuing  in  our  favour  drove  us  seven 
knots  an  hour. 

This  day  we  saw  a  sail,  the  only  one,  as  I  heard  of, 
we  had  seen  in  our  whole  passage  through  the  bay. 
I  mention  this  on  account  of  what  appeared  to  me 
somewhat  extraordinary.  Though  she  was  at  such  a 
distance  that  I  could  only  perceive  she  was  a  ship, 

[329] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

the  sailors  discovered  that  she  was  a  snow,  bound  to 
a  port  in  Galicia. 

Sunday.  — After  prayers,  which  our  good  captain 
read  on  the  deck  with  an  audible  voice,  and  with  but 
one  mistake,  of  a  lion  for  Elias,  in  the  second  lesson 
for  this  day,  we  found  ourselves  far  advanced  in  42°, 
and  the  captain  declared  we  should  sup  off  Porte. 
We  had  not  much  wind  this  day ;  but,  as  this  was 
directly  in  our  favour,  we  made  it  up  with  sail,  of 
which  we  crowded  all  we  had.  We  went  only  at  the 
rate  of  four  miles  an  hour,  but  with  so  uneasy  a 
motion,  continually  rolling  from  side  to  side,  that  I 
suffered  more  than  I  had  done  in  our  whole  voyage ; 
my  bowels  being  almost  twisted  out  of  my  belly. 
However,  the  day  was  very  serene  and  bright,  and 
the  captain,  who  was  in  high  spirits,  affirmed  he 
had  never  passed  a  pleasanter  at  sea. 

The  wind  continued  so  brisk  that  we  ran  upward 
of  six  knots  an  hour  the  whole  night. 

Monday.  —  In  the  morning  our  captain  concluded 
that  he  was  got  into  lat.  40°,  and  was  very  little  short 
of  the  Burlings,  as  they  are  called  in  the  charts.  We 
came  up  with  them  at  five  in  the  afternoon,  being 
the  first  land  we  had  distinctly  seen  since  we  left 
Devonshire.  They  consist  of  abundance  of  little 
rocky  islands,  a  little  distant  from  the  shore,  three  of 
them  only  shewing  themselves  above  the  water. 

Here  the  Portuguese  maintain  a  kind  of  garrison, 
if  we  may  allow  it  that  name.  It  consists  of  male- 
factors, who  are  banished  hither  for  a  term,  for  divers 
small  offences  —  a  policy  which  they  may  have  copied 
from   the  Egyptians,  as   we  may  read   in  Diodorus 

[330] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

Siculus.  That  wise  people,  to  prevent  the  corruption 
of  good  manners  by  evil  communication,  built  a 
town  on  the  Red  Sea,  whither  they  transported  a 
great  number  of  their  criminals,  having  first  set  an 
indelible  mark  on  them,  to  prevent  their  returning 
and  mixing  with  the  sober  part  of  their  citizens. 

These  rocks  lie  about  fifteen  leagues  north-west  of 
Cape  Roxent,  or,  as  it  is  commonly  called,  the  Rock 
of  Lisbon,  which  we  past  early  the  next  morning. 
The  wind,  indeed,  would  have  carried  us  thither 
sooner  ;  but  the  captain  was  not  in  a  hurry,  as  he 
was  to  lose  nothing  by  his  delay. 

Tuesday.  — This  is  a  very  high  mountain,  situated 
on  the  northern  side  of  the  mouth  of  the  river  Tajo, 
which,  rising  about  Madrid,  in  Spain,  and  soon  be- 
coming navigable  for  small  craft,  empties  itself,  after 
a  long  course,  into  the  sea,  about  four  leagues  below 
Lisbon. 

On  the  summit  of  the  rock  stands  a  hermitage, 
which  is  now  in  the  possession  of  an  Englishman, 
who  was  formerly  master  of  a  vessel  trading  to  Lis- 
bon ;  and,  having  changed  his  religion  and  his  man- 
ners, the  latter  of  which,  at  least,  were  none  of  the 
best,  betook  himself  to  this  place,  in  order  to  do 
penance  for  his  sins.  He  is  now  very  old,  and  hath 
inhabited  this  hermitage  for  a  great  number  of 
years,  during  which  he  hath  received  some  counte- 
nance from  the  royal  family,  and  particularly  from 
the  present  queen  dowager,  whose  piety  refuses  no 
trouble  or  expence  by  which  she  may  make  a  prose- 
lyte, being  used  to  say  that  the  saving  one  soul  would 
repay  all  the  endeavours  of  her  life. 

[331  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

Here  we  waited  for  the  tide,  and  had  the  pleasure 
of  surveying  the  face  of  the  country,  the  soil  of 
which,  at  this  season,  exactly  resembles  an  old  brick- 
kill,  or  a  field  where  the  green  sward  is  pared  up 
and  set  a  burning,  or  rather  a  snioaking,  in  little 
heaps  to  manure  the  land.  This  sight  will,  perhaps, 
of  all  others,  make  an  Englishman  proud  of,  and 
pleased  with,  his  own  country,  which  in  verdure  ex- 
cels, I  believe,  every  other  country.  Another  defi- 
ciency here  is  the  want  of  large  trees,  nothing  above 
a  shrub  being  here  to  be  discovered  in  the  circum- 
ference of  many  miles. 

At  this  place  we  took  a  pilot  on  board,  who,  being 
the  first  Portuguese  we  spoke  to,  gave  us  an  instance 
of  that  religious  observance  which  is  paid  by  all  na- 
tions to  their  laws ;  for,  whereas  it  is  here  a  capital 
offence  to  assist  any  person  in  going  on  shore  from 
a  foreign  vessel  before  it  hath  been  examined,  and 
every  person  in  it  viewed  by  the  magistrates  of 
health,  as  they  are  called,  this  worthy  pilot,  for  a 
very  small  reward,  rowed  the  Portuguese  priest  to 
shore  at  this  place,  beyond  which  he  did  not  dare  to 
advance,  and  in  venturing  whither  he  had  given  suffi- 
cient testimony  of  love  for  his  native  country. 

We  did  not  enter  the  Tajo  till  noon,  when,  after 
passing  several  old  castles  and  other  buildings  which 
had  greatly  the  aspect  of  ruins,  we  came  to  the  castle 
of  Bellisle,  where  we  had  a  full  prospect  of  Lisbon, 
and  were,  indeed,  within  three  miles  of  it. 

Here  we  were  saluted  with  a  gun,  which  was  a 
signal  to  pass  no  farther  till  we  had  complied  with 
certain  ceremonies   which  the  laws  of  this  country 

[  332  ] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

require  to  be  observed  by  all  ships  which  arrive  in 
this  port.  We  wei-e  obliged  then  to  cast  anchor, 
and  expect  the  arrival  of  the  officers  of  the  customs, 
without  whose  passport  no  ship  must  proceed  farther 
than  this  place. 

Here  likewise  we  received  a  visit  from  one  of  those 
magistrates  of  health  before  mentioned.  He  refused 
to  come  on  board  the  ship  till  every  person  in  her 
had  been  drawn  up  on  deck  and  personally  viewed 
by  him.  This  occasioned  some  delay  on  my  part,  as 
it  was  not  the  work  of  a  minute  to  lift  me  from  the 
cabin  to  the  deck.  The  captain  thought  my  partic- 
ular case  might  have  been  excused  from  this  cere- 
mony, and  that  it  would  be  abundantly  sufficient  if 
the  magistrate,  who  was  obliged  afterwards  to  visit 
the  cabin,  surveyed  me  there.  But  this  did  not 
satisfy  the  magistrate's  strict  regard  to  his  duty. 
When  he  was  told  of  my  lameness,  he  called  out, 
with  a  voice  of  authority,  "Let  him  be  brought  up," 
and  his  orders  were  presently  complied  with.  He 
was,  indeed,  a  person  of  great  dignity,  as  well  as  of 
the  most  exact  fidelity  in  the  discharge  of  his  trust. 
Both  which  are  the  most  admirable  as  his  salary  is 
less  than  thirty  pounds  English  per  animm. 

Before  a  ship  hath  been  visited  by  one  of  those 
magistrates  no  person  can  lawfully  go  on  board  her, 
nor  can  any  on  board  depart  from  her.  This  I  saw 
exemplified  in  a  remarkable  instance.  The  young 
lad  whom  I  have  mentioned  as  one  of  our  passengers 
was  here  met  bv  his  father,  who,  on  the  first  news  of 
the  captain's  arrival,  came  from  Lisbon  to  Bellisle  in 
a  boat,  being  eager  to  embrace  a  son  whom  he  had 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

not  seen  for  many  years.  But  when  he  came  along- 
side our  ship  neither  did  the  father  dare  ascend  nor 
the  son  descend,  as  the  magistrate  of  health  had  not 
yet  been  on  board. 

Some  of  our  readers  will,  perhaps,  admire  the 
great  caution  of  this  policy,  so  nicely  calculated  for 
the  preservatioii  of  this  country  from  all  pestilential 
distempers.  Others  will  as  probably  regard  it  as  too 
exact  and  formal  to  be  constantly  persisted  in,  in 
seasons  of  the  utmost  safety,  as  well  as  in  times  of 
danger.  I  will  not  decide  either  way,  but  will  con- 
tent myself  with  observing  that  I  never  yet  saw  or 
heard  of  a  place  where  a  traveller  had  so  much 
trouble  given  him  at  his  landing  as  here.  The  only 
use  of  which,  as  all  such  matters  begin  .ind  end  in 
form  only,  is  to  put  it  into  the  power  of  low  and 
mean  fellows  to  be  either  rudely  officious  or  grossly 
corrupt,  as  they  shall  see  occasion  to  prefer  the  grati- 
fication of  their  pride  or  of  their  avarice. 

Of  this  kind,  likewise,  is  that  power  which  is 
lodged  with  other  officers  here,  of  taking  away  every 
grain  of  snufF  and  every  leaf  of  tobacco  brought 
hither  from  other  countries,  though  only  for  the 
temporary  use  of  the  person  during  his  residence 
here.  This  is  executed  witli  great  insolence,  and,  as 
it  is  in  the  hands  of  the  dregs  of  the  people,  very 
scandalously  ;  for,  under  pretence  of  searching  for 
tobacco  and  snuff,  they  are  sure  to  steal  whatever 
they  can  find,  insomuch  that  when  they  came  on 
board  our  sailors  addressed  us  in  the  Covent-garden 
language  :  "  Pray,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  take  care  of 
your  swords  and  watches."     Indeed,  I  never  yet  saw 

[334] 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

anything  equal  to  the  contempt  and  hatred  which 
our  honest  tars  every  moment  expressed  for  these 
Portuguese  officers. 

At  BelHsle  lies  buried  Catharine  of  Arragon,  widow 
of  prince  Arthur,  eldest  son  of  our  Henry  VII.,  after- 
wards married  to,  and  divorced  from,  Henry  VIII. 
Close  by  the  church  where  her  remains  are  deposited 
is  a  large  convent  of  Geronymites,  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  piles  of  building  in  all  Portugal. 

In  the  evening,  at  twelve,  our  ship,  having  received 
previous  visits  from  all  the  necessary  parties,  took  the 
advantage  of  the  tide,  and  having  sailed  up  to  Lis- 
bon cast  anchor  there,  in  a  calm  and  moonshiny 
night,  which  made  the  passage  incredibly  pleasant 
to  the  women,  who  remained  three  hours  enjoying  it, 
whilst  I  was  left  to  the  cooler  transports  of  enjoyino- 
their  pleaisures  at  second-hand;  and  yet,  cooler  as  they 
may  be,  whoever  is  totally  ignorant  of  such  sensation 
is,  at  the  same  time,  void  of  all  ideas  of  friendship. 

Wednesday.  —  Lisbon,  before  which  we  now  lay  at 
anchor,  is  said  to  be  built  on  the  same  number  of 
hills  with  old  Rome ;  but  these  do  not  all  appear  to 
the  water;  on  the  contrary,  one  sees  from  thence 
one  vast  high  hill  and  rock,  with  buildings  arising 
above  one  another,  and  that  in  so  steep  and  almost 
perpendicular  a  manner,  that  they  all  seem  to  have 
but  one  foimdation. 

As  the  houses,  convents,  churches,  &c.,  are  large, 
and  all  built  with  white  stone,  they  look  very  beauti- 
ful at  a  distance ;  but  as  you  approach  nearer,  and 
find  them  to  want  every  kind  of  ornament,  all  idea 
of  beauty  vanishes  at  once.     While  I  was  surveying 

[3a5  j 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

the  prospect  of  this  city,  which  bears  so  little  resem- 
blance to  any  other  that  I  have  ever  seen,  a  reflexion 
occurred  to  me  that,  if"  a  man  was  suddenly  to  be  re- 
moved from  Palmyra  hither,  and  should  take  a  view 
of  no  other  city,  in  how  glorious  a  light  would  the 
antient  architecture  appear  to  him  !  and  what  deso- 
lation and  destruction  of  arts  and  sciences  would  he 
conclude  had  happened  between  the  several  aeras  of 
these  cities ! 

I  had  now  waited  full  thi'ee  hours  upon  deck  for 
the  return  of  my  man,  whom  I  had  sent  to  bespeak 
a  good  dinner  (a  thing  which  had  been  long  un- 
known to  me)  on  shore,  and  then  to  bring  a  Lisbon 
chaise  with  him  to  the  sea-shore  ;  but  it  seems  the 
impertinence  of  the  providore  was  not  yet  brought 
to  a  conclusion.  At  three  o'clock,  when  I  was,  from 
emptiness,  rather  faint  than  hungry,  my  man  re- 
turned, and  told  me  there  was  a  new  law  lately 
made  that  no  passenger  should  set  his  foot  on  shore 
without  a  special  order  from  the  providore,  and  that 
he  himself  would  have  been  sent  to  prison  for  disobey- 
ing it,  had  he  not  been  protected  as  the  servant  of  the 
captain.  He  informed  me  likewise  that  the  captain 
had  been  very  industrious  to  get  this  order,  but  that 
it  was  then  the  providore's  hour  of  sleep,  a  time  when 
no  man,  except  the  king  himself,  durst  disturb  him. 

To  avoid  prolixity,  though  in  a  part  of  my  narra- 
tive which  may  be  more  agieeable  to  my  reader  than 
it  was  to  me,  the  providore,  having  at  last  finished  his 
nap,  dispatched  this  absurd  matter  of  form,  and  gave 
me  leave  to  come,  or  rather  to  be  carried,  on  shore. 

What    it    was   that   gave    the  first   hint    of  this 

[336  j 


A    VOYAGE    TO    LISBON 

strange  law  is  not  easy  to  guess.  Possibly,  in  the 
infancy  of  their  defection,  and  before  their  govern- 
ment could  be  well  established,  they  were  willing  to 
guard  against  the  bare  possibility  of  surprise,  of  the 
success  of  which  bare  possibility  the  Trojan  horse 
will  remain  for  ever  on  record,  as  a  great  and  memo- 
rable example.  Now  the  Portuguese  have  no  walls 
to  secure  them,  and  a  vessel  of  two  or  three  hundred 
tons  will  contain  a  much  larger  body  of  troops  than 
could  be  concealed  in  that  famous  machine,  though 
Virgil  tells  us  (somewhat  hyperbolically,  I  believe) 
that  it  was  as  big  as  a  mountain. 

About  seven  in  the  evening  I  got  into  a  chaise  on 
shore,  and  was  driven  through  the  nastiest  city  in 
the  world,  though  at  the  same  time  one  of  the  most 
populous,  to  a  kind  of  coffee-house,  which  is  very 
pleasantly  situated  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  about  a 
mile  from  the  city,  and  hath  a  very  fine  prospect  of 
the  river  Tajo  from  Lisbon  to  the  sea. 

Here  we  regaled  ourselves  with  a  good  supper,  for 
which  we  were  as  well  charged  as  if  the  bill  had 
been  made  on  the  Bath-road,  between  Newbury  and 
London. 

And  now  we  could  joyfully  say, 

Egressi  optata  Troes  potiuntur  arena. 

Therefore,  in  the  words  of  Horace, 
—  hie  Finis  chartaeque  viaeque. 


END    OF    VOL.    I 


[337] 


COPYRIGHT  1903   BYTHE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


KING    ARTHUK    AND    HUNCWAIUNCA 


HuNCAMiJNCA.  .  .  .  A  maid  may  want 
What  she  can  neither  eat  nor  drink 
King.  What 's  that  ? 

HuNc.  O  xpare  my  bhishes  ;  but  I 
me(in  a  hufihand 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Author's  Farce,  Acts  I.  and  II 1 

The  Tragedy  of  Tragedies  ;  or,  the  Life  and  Death 

of  Tom  Thumb  the  Great 43 

Pasquin  ;  A  Dramatick  Satire  on  the  Times     .     .  117 

An  Essay  on  Conversation 197 

The  True  Patriot,  No.  XIII 24 i 

The  Covent-Garden  Journal,  Nos.  X.,  XXXIII.     .  253 

Familiar  Letters 269 


-Quis  iniquae 


Tam  patiens  urbis,  tarn  ferreus,  ut  teneat  se  ? 

—  Juv.  Sat.  I. 


PROLOGUE,  SPOKEN  BY  MR.  JONES. 

Too  long  the  Tragick  Muse  hath  aw'd  the  stage. 

And  frighten'd  wives  and  children  with  her  rage  ; 

Too  long  Drawcansir  roars,  Parthenope  weeps, 

While  ev'ry  lady  cries,  and  critick  sleeps. 

With  ghosts,  rapes,  murders,  tender  hearts  they  wound. 

Or  else,  like  thunder,  terrify  with  sound. 

When  the  skill'd  actress  to  her  weeping  eyes. 

With  artful  sigh,  the  handkerchief  applies. 

How  griev'd  each  sympathizing  nymph  appears  ! 

And  box  and  gallery  both  melt  in  tears. 

Or  when,  in  armour  of  Corinthian  brass, 

Heroick  actor  stares  you  in  the  face. 

And  cries  aloud,  with  emphasis  that 's  fit,  on 

Liberty,  freedom,  liberty  and  Briton  ! 

While  frowning,  gaping  for  applause  he  stands. 

What  generous  Briton  can  refuse  his  hands  ? 

Like  the  tame  animals  design 'd  for  show. 

You  have  your  cues  to  clap,  as  they  to  bow  ; 

Taught  to  commend,  your  judgments  have  no  share  5 

By  chance  you  guess  aright,  by  chance  you  err. 

But,  handkerchiefs  and  Britain  laid  aside. 
To-night  we  mean  to  laugh,  and  not  to  chide. 

In  days  of  yore,  when  fools  were  held  in  fashion, 
Tho'  now,  alas  !  all  banish'd  from  the  nation, 
A  merry  jester  had  reform'd  his  lord, 
Who  would  have  scorn 'd  the  sterner  Stoick's  word. 

Bred  in  Democritus  his  laughing  schools, 
Our  author  flies  sad  Heraclitus'  rules  ; 
No  tears,  no  terror  plead  in  his  behalf ; 
The  aim  of  Farce  is  but  to  make  you  laugh. 
Beneath  the  tragick  or  the  comick  name. 
Farces  and  puppet-shows  ne'er  miss  of  fame. 
Since  then,  in  borrow'd  dress,  they  've  pleas'd  the  town. 
Condemn  them  not,  appearing  in  their  own. 

Smiles  we  expect  from  the  good-natur'd  few  ; 
As  ye  are  done  by,  ye  malicious,  do  ; 
And  kindly  laugh  at  him  who  laughs  at  you. 


PERSONS  IN  THE  FARCE. 
Men. 

Luckless,  the  Author  and  Master  of  the  Show,  Mr.  Mullart. 

Witmore,  his  friend Mr.   Lacy. 

Marulaii,  sen.,  )„         ,.  (Mr.   Reynolds, 

,,    ^,        .         ,<.  Comedians i  t,,      ^ 

Marplay,jun.,S  (Mr.  Stopler. 

Bookioeight,  a  Bookseller Mr.  Jones. 

Scarecrow,^  /'Mr.   Marshal, 

Da^h,            „    .,  ,  ,  I  Mr.   Hallam, 

QuilMe,       [Scribblers ^^^    ^^^^^ 


J 


Blotpage,   J  '-Mr.  Wells,  jun. 

Index • 

Jack,  servant  to  Luckless Mr.  Achurch. 

Jack-Pudding Mr.  Reynolds. 

Bantomite Mr.  Marshal. 

Women. 

Mrs.  Moneywood,  the  Author's  Landlady      .  Mrs.   Mullart. 

Harriot,  her  daughter Miss  Palms. 


ACT   I. 

Scene   I.  —  Luckless's    Room    in    Mrs.    Moneywood's 
House.  —  Mrs.  Moneywood,  Harriot,  Luckless. 

Moneywood.  Never  tell  me,  Mr.  Luckless,  of  your 
play,  and  your  play.  I  tell  you  I  must  be  paid.  I 
would  no  more  depend  on  a  benefit-night  of  an  un- 
acted play  than  I  would  on  a  benefit-ticket  in  an  un- 
drawn lottery.  Could  I  have  guessed  that  I  had  a 
poet  in  my  house !  Could  I  have  looked  for  a  poet 
under  laced  clothes  ! 

Luck.  Why  not  ?  since  you  may  often  find  poverty 
under  them  :  nay,  they  are  commonly  the  signs  of  it. 
And,  therefore,  why  may  not  a  poet  be  seen  in  them 
as  well  as  a  courtier  ? 

Money.    Do  you  make  a  jest  of  my  misfortune,  sir  ? 

Luck.  Rather  my  misfortune.  I  am  sure  I  have  a 
better  title  to  poverty  than  you  ;  for,  notwithstand- 
ing the  handsome  figure  I  make,  unless  you  are  so 
good  to  invite  me,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  scarce  prevail 
on  my  stomach  to  dine  to-day. 

Money.  Oh,  never  fear  that  —  you  will  never  want 
a  dinner  till  you  have  dined  at  all  the  eating-houses 

round. No  one  shuts  their  doors  against  you  the 

first  time ;  and  1  think  you  are  so  kind,  seldom  to 
trouble  them  a  second. 

Luck.    No. And  if  you  will  give  me  leave  to 

walk  out  of  your  doors,  the  devil  take  me  if  ever  I 
come  into  ""em  again. 

[5] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Money.  Pay  me,  sir,  what  you  owe  me,  and  walk 
away  whenever  you  please. 

Lucie.  With  all  my  heart,  madam  ;  get  me  a  pen 
and  ink,  and  I  'll  give  you  my  note  for  it  immediately. 

Money.  Your  note !  who  will  discount  it  ?  Not 
your  bookseller ;  for  he  has  as  many  of  your  notes  as 
he  has  of  your  works  ;  both  good  lasting  ware,  and 
which  are  never  likely  to  go  out  of  his  shop  and  his 
scrutore. 

Har.  Nay,  but,  madam,  ""t  is  barbarous  to  insult 
him  in  this  manner. 

Money.  No  doubt  you  ""ll  take  his  part.  Pray  get 
you  about  your  business.  I  suppose  he  intends  to 
pay  me  by  ruining  you.  Get  you  in  this  instant : 
and  remember,  if  ever  I  see  you  with  him  again  I'll 
turn  you  out  of  doors. 

Scene  II.  —  Luckless,  Mrs.  Moneywood. 

Luck.  Discharge  all  your  ill-nature  on  me,  madam, 
but  spare  poor  Miss  Hariiot. 

Money.  Oh  !  then  it  is  plain.  I  have  suspected 
your  familiarity  a  long  while.  You  are  a  base  man. 
Is  it  not  enough  to  stay  three  months  in  my  house 
without  paving  me  a  fu'thing,  but  you  must  ruin  my 
child  ? 

Luck.  I  love  her  as  my  soul.  Had  I  the  world 
I  \1  give  it  her  all. 

Money.  But,  as  you  happen  to  have  nothing  in  the 
world,  I  desire  you  would  have  nothing  to  say  to  her. 
I  suppose  vou  would  have  settled  all  your  castles  in 
the  air.     Oh  !  I  wish  you  had  lived  in  one  of  them, 

[6] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

instead  of  my  house.  Well,  I  am  resolved,  when  you 
have  gone  away  (which  I  heartily  hope  will  be  very 
soon)  I  '11  hang  over  my  door  in  great  red  letters, 
"  No  lodgings  for  poets."  Sure  never  was  such  a 
guest  as  you  have  been.  My  floor  is  all  spoiled  with 
ink,  my  windows  with  verses,  and  my  door  has  been 
almost  beat  down  with  duns. 

Luck.  ^Vould  your  house  had  been  beaten  down, 
and  everything  but  my  dear  Harriot  crushed  under  it ! 

Money.    Sir,  sir 

Luck.  Madam,  madam  !  I  will  attack  you  at  your 
own  weapons  ;   I  will  pay  you  in  your  own  coin. 

Money.    I  wish  you  'd  pay  me  in  any  coin,  sir. 

Luck.  Look  ye,  madam,  I  '11  do  as  much  as  a 
reasonable  woman  can  require ;  I  '11  shew  you  all  I 
have;  and  give  you  all  I  have  too,  if  you  please  to 
accept  it.  [Turns  his  pockets  inside  oxit. 

Money.  I  will  not  be  used  in  this  manner.  No, 
sir,  I  will  be  paid,  if  there  be  any  such  thing  as  law. 

Luck.  By  what  law  you  will  put  money  into  my 
pocket  I  know  not ;  for  I  never  heard  of  any  one  who 
got  money  by  the  law  but  the  lawyers.  I  have  told 
you  already,  and  I  tell  you  again,  that  the  first  money 
I  get  shall  be  yours  ;  and  I  have  great  expectations 
from  my  play.  In  the  mean  time  your  staying  here 
can  be  of  no  service,  and  you  may  possibly  drive  some 
fine  thoughts  out  of  my  head.  I  would  write  a  love 
scene,  and  your  daughter  would  be  more  proper  com- 
pany, on  that  occasion,  than  you. 

Money.  You  would  act  a  love-scene,  I  believe ; 
but  I  shall  prevent  you  ;  for  I  intend  to  dispose  of 
myself  before  my  daughter. 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Ijuck.    Dispose  of  yourself ! 

Money.  Yes,  sir,  dispose  of  myself.  'T  is  very  well 
known  that  I  have  had  very  good  offers  since  my  last 
dear  husband  died.  I  might  have  had  an  attorney  of 
New  Inn,  or  Mr.  Fillpot,  the  exciseman  ;  yes,  I  had 
my  choice  of  two  parsons,  or  a  doctor  of  physick; 
and  yet  I  slighted  them  all ;  yes,  I  slighted  them  for 
—  for  —  for  you. 

Luck.    For  me  .? 

Money.  Yes,  you  have  seen  too  visible  marks  of  my 
passion  ;  too  visible  for  my  reputation.         \Sohbing. 

Luck.  I  have  heard  very  loud  tokens  of  your  pas- 
sion ;  but  I  rather  took  it  for  the  passion  of  anger 
than   of  love. 

Money.  Oh  !  it  was  love,  indeed.  Nothing  but 
love,  upon  my  soul ! 

Luck.  The  devil !  This  way  of  dunning  is  worse 
than  the  other. 

Motuy.  If  thou  can'st  not  pay  me  in  money,  let 
me  have  it  in  love.  If  I  break  through  the  modesty 
of  my  sex  let  my  passion  excuse  it.  I  know  the  world 
will  call  it  an  impudent  action  ;  but  if  you  will  let 
me  reserve  all  I  have  to  myself,  I  will  make  myself 
yours   for  ever. 

Luck.   Toll,  loll,  loll ! 

Money.  And  is  this  the  manner  you  receive  my 
declaration,  you  poor  beggarly  fellow .?  You  shall 
repent  this  ;  remember,  you  shall  repent  it ;  remem- 
ber that.  I  '11  shew  you  the  revenge  of  an  injured 
woman. 

Luck.  I  shall  never  repent  anything  that  rids  me 
of  you,  I  am  sure. 

[8] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Scene  III,  —  Luckless,  Harriot. 

Luck.    Dear  Harriot ! 

Har.  I  have  waited  an  opportunity  to  return  to 
you. 

Luck.    Oh !  my  dear,  I  am  so  sick  ! 

Har.    What 's  the  matter  ? 

Luck.    Oh  !  your  mother  !  your  mother ! 

Har.    What,  has  she  been  scolding  ever  since  .? 

Luck.    W^orse,  worse ! 

Har.  Heaven  forbid  she  should  threaten  to  go  to 
law  with  you. 

Luck.  Oh,  worse  !  worse  !  she  threatens  to  go  to 
church  with  me.  She  has  made  me  a  generous  offer, 
that  if  I  will  but  marry  her  she  will  suffer  me  to  settle 
all  she  has  upon  her. 

Har.  Generous  creature  !  Sure  you  will  not  resist 
the  proposal  ? 

Luck.    Hum  !  what  would  you  advise  me  to  ? 

Har.  Oh,  take  her,  take  her,  by  all  means ;  you 
will  be  the  prettiest,  finest,  loveliest,  sweetest  couple. 
Augh !  what  a  delicate  dish  of  matrimony  you  will 
make  !  Her  age  with  your  youth,  her  avarice  with 
your  extravagance,  and  her  scolding  with  your  poetry ! 

Luck.  Nay,  but  I  am  serious,  and  I  desire  you 
would  be  so.  You  know  my  unhappy  circumstances, 
and  your  mother's  wealth.  It  would  be  at  least  a 
prudent  match. 

Har.  Oh !  extremely  prudent,  ha,  ha,  ha !  the 
world  will  say.  Lard !  who  could  have  thought  Mr. 
Luckless  had  had  so  much  prudence  ?  This  one 
action  will  overbalance  all  the  follies  of  your  life. 

[9] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Luck.  Faith,  I  think  it  will :  but,  dear  Harriot, 
how  can  I  think  of  losing  you  for  ever  ?  And  yet, 
as  our  affairs  stand,  I  see  no  possibility  of  our  being 
happy  together.  It  will  be  some  pleasure,  too,  that  I 
may  have  it  in  my  power  to  serve  you.  Believe  me,  it 
is  with  the  utmost  reluctance  I  think  of  parting  with 
you.     For  if  it  was  in  my  power  to  have  you 

Har.  Oh,  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you ;  I 
believe  you  — Yes,  you  need  not  swear,  I  believe  you. 

Luck.  And  can  you  as  easily  consult  prudence,  and 
part  with  me  ?  for  I  would  not  buy  my  own  happiness 
at  the  price  of  yours. 

ILnr.  I  thank  you,  sir Part  with  you intol- 

able  vanity ! 

Luck.  Then  I  am  resolved  ;  and  so,  my  good  land- 
lady, have  at  you. 

Har.  Stay,  sir,  let  me  acquaint  you  with  one  thing 
—  you  are  a  villain!  and  don't  think  I'm  vexed  at 
anything,  but  that  I  should  have  been  such  a  fool  as 
ever  to  have  had  a  good  opinion  of  you.         [^Crying. 

Luck.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Caught,  by  Jupiter  !  And  did 
my  dear  Harriot  think  me  in  earnest  .'* 

Har.    And  was  you  not  in  earnest  ? 

Luck.  What,  to  part  with  thee  ?  A  pretty  woman 
will  be  sooner  in  earnest  to  part  with  her  beauty,  or  a 
great  man  with  his  power. 

Har.    I  wish  I  were  assured  of  the  sincerity  of  your 

love. 

AIR.     Buttered  Pease. 

Luck.     Does  my  dearest  Harriot  ask 

What  for  love  I  would  pursue  ? 
Would  you,  charmer,  know  what  task 
I  would  undertake  for  you  ? 

[  10  ] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Ask  the  bold  ambitious,  what 
He  for  honours  would  atchieve? 

Or  the  gay  voluptuous,  that 
Which  he'd  not  for  pleasure  give? 

Ask  the  miser  what  he  'd  do 

To  amass  excessive  gain  ? 
Or  the  saint,  what  he  'd  pursue. 

His  wish'd  heav'n  to  obtain  ? ' 

These  I  would  attempt,  and  more  — 

For,  oh  !  my  Harriot  is  to  me 
All  ambition,  pleasure,  store. 

Or  what  heav'n  itself  can  be  ! 

Har.     Would  my  dearest  Luckless  know 
What  his  constant  Harriot  can 
Her  tender  love  and  faith  to  show 
For  her  dear,  her  only  man  ? 

Ask  the  vain  coquette  what  she 

For  men's  adoration  would  ; 
Or  from  censure  to  be  free. 

Ask  the  vile  censorious  prude. 

In  a  coach  and  six  to  ride. 

What  the  mercenary  jade. 
Or  the  widow  to  be  bride 

To  a  brisk  broad-shoulder'd  blade. 

All  these  I  would  attempt  for  thee. 

Could  I  but  thy  passion  fix  ; 
Thy  will  my  sole  commander  be. 

And  thy  arms  my  coach  and  six. 

Morwy   [zoHhln].  Harriot,  Harriot. 

Har.  Hear  the  dreadful  summons  !  adieu.  I  will 
take  the  first  opportunity  of  seeing  you  again. 

Luck.  Adieu,  my  pretty  charmer  ;  go  thy  ways  for 
the  first  of  thy  sex. 

[11] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Scene  IV.  —  Luckless,  Jack. 

Luck.    So  !  what  news  bring  you  .? 

Jaclc.  An  ""t  please  your  honour  I  have  been  at  my 
lord's,  and  his  lordship  thanks  you  for  the  favour 
you  have  offered  of  reading  your  play  to  him  ;  but 
he  has  such  a  prodigious  deal  of  business,  he  begs  to 
be  excused.  I  have  been  with  Mr.  Keyber  too  —  he 
made  me  no  answer  at  all.  Mr.  Bookweight  will  be 
here  immediately. 

Luck.    Jack. 

Jack.    Sir. 

Luck.  Fetch  my  other  hat  hither;  —  carry  it  to 
the  pawnbroker's. 

Jack.    To  your  honour's  own  pawnbroker  ! 

Luck.  Ay  —  and  in  thy  way  home  call  at  the 
cook's  shop.  So,  one  way  or  other,  I  find  my  head 
must  always  provide  for  my  belly. 


Scene  V.  —  Luckless,  Witmore. 

Luck.    I  am  surprized  !  dear  Witmore  ! 

Wit.     Dear  HaiTy ! 

Luck.  This  is  kind,  indeed  ;  but  I  do  not  more 
wonder  at  finding  a  man  in  this  age  who  can  be  a 
friend  to  adversity,  than  that  Fortune  should  be  so 
much  my  friend  as  to  direct  you  to  me ;  for  she  is  a 
lady  I  have  not  been  much  indebted  to  lately. 

Wit.  She  who  told  me,  I  assure  you,  is  one  you 
have  been  indebted  to  a  long  while. 

Liick.    Whom  do  you  mean  ^ 

[12] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Wit.  One  who  complains  of  your  unkindness  in 
not  visiting  her  —  Mrs,  Lovewood. 

Luck.    Dost  thou  visit  there  still,  then  ? 

Wit.  I  throw  an  idle  hour  away  there  sometimes. 
When  I  am  in  an  ill-humour  I  am  sure  of  feeding  it 
there  with  all  the  scandal  in  town,  for  no  bawd  is 
half  so  diligent  in  looking  after  girls  with  an  un- 
cracked  maidenhead  as  she  in  searching  out  women 
with  cracked  reputations. 

Liick.    The  much  more  infamous  office  of  the  two. 

Wit.  Thou  art  still  a  favourer  of  the  women,  I 
find. 

Luck.  Ay,  the  women  and  the  muses  —  the  high 
roads  to  beo-fjarv. 

Wit.    What,    art    thou    not    cured    of   scribling 

yet? 

Luck.  No,  scribling  is  as  impossible  to  cure  as  the 
gout. 

Wit.  And  as  sure  a  sign  of  poverty  as  the  gout 
of  riches.  'Sdeath  !  in  an  age  of  learning  and  true 
politeness,  where  a  man  might  succeed  by  his  merit, 
there  would  be  some  encouragement.  But  now, 
when  party  and  prejudice  carry  all  before  them  ; 
when  learning  is  decried,  wit  not  understood  ;  when 
the  theatres  are  puppet-shows,  and  the  comedians 
ballad-singers ;  when  fools  lead  the  town,  would  a 
man  think  to  thrive  by  his  wit?  If  you  must  write, 
write  nonsense,  write  operas,  write  Hurlothrumbos, 
set  up  an  oratory  and  preach  nonsense,  and  you 
may  meet  with  encouragement  enough.  Be  profane, 
be  scurrilous,  be  immodest:  if  you  would  receive 
applause,  deserve    to    receive    sentence    at    the    Old 

[13] 


THE    AI'THOR^S    FABCE 

Bailey ;  and  if  you  would  ride  in  a  coach,  deserve  to 
ride  in  a  cart. 

Luck.    You  are  warm,  my  friend. 

Wit.  It  is  because  I  am  your  friend.  I  cannot 
bear  to  hear  the  man  I  love  ridiculed  by  fools  —  by 
idiots.  To  hear  a  fellow  who,  had  he  been  born  a 
Chinese,  had  starved  for  want  of  genius  to  have  been 
even  the  lowest  mechanick,  toss  up  his  empty  noddle 
with  an  affected  disdain  of  what  he  has  not  under- 
stood ;  and  women  abusing  what  they  have  neither 
seen  nor  heard,  from  an  unreasonable  prejudice  to 
an  honest  fellow  whom  they  have  not  known.  If 
thou  wilt  write  against  all  these  reasons  get  a  pa- 
tron, be  pimp  to  some  worthless  man  of  quality, 
write  panegyricks  on  him,  flatter  him  with  as  many 
virtues  as  he  has  vices.  Then,  perhaps,  you  will  en- 
gage his  lordship,  his  lordship  engages  the  town  on 
your  side,  and  then  write  till  your  arms  ake,  sense 
or  nonsense,  it  will  all  go  down. 

Luck.  Thou  art  too  satirical  on  mankind.  It 
is  possible  to  thrive  in  the  world  by  justifiable 
means. 

Wit.  Ay,  justifiable,  and  so  they  are  justifiable  by 
custom.  What  does  the  soldier  or  physician  thrive 
by  but  slaughter  ?  —  the  lawyer  but  by  quarrels  ?  — 
the  courtier  but  by  taxes  ?  —  the  poet  but  by  flat- 
tery ?  I  know  none  that  thrive  by  profiting  man- 
kind, but  the  husbandman  and  the  merchant :  the 
one  gives  you  the  fruit  of  your  own  soil,  the  other 
brings  you  those  from  abroad ;  and  yet  these  are 
represented  as  mean  and  mechanical,  and  the  others 
as  honourable  and  glorious. 

[14] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Lu^lc.  Well ;  but  prithee  leave  railing,  and  tel\ 
nie  what  you   would  advise  me  to  do. 

Wit.  Do  !  why  thou  art  a  vigorous  young  fellow, 
and  there  are  rich  widows  in  town. 

lAick.    But  I  am  already  engaged. 

Wit.  Why  don't  you  marry  then for  I  sup- 
pose you  are  not  mad  enough  to  have  any  engage- 
ment with  a  poor  mistress  ? 

Luck.  Even  so,  faith  ;  and  so  heartily  that  I  would 
.  not  change  her  for  the  widow  of  a  Croesus. 

Wit.  Now  thou  art  undone,  indeed.  Matrimony 
clenches  ruin  beyond  retrieval.  What  unfortunate 
stars  wert  thou  bom  under  ?  Was  it  not  enough  to 
follow  those  nine  ragged  jades  the  muses,  but  you 
must  fasten  on  some  earth-born  mistress  as  poor  as 
them  .'' 

Mar.jun.  \xoithin\  Order  my  chairman  to  call  on 
me  at  St.   James's. No,  let  them  stay. 

Wit.    Heyday,  whom  the  devil  have  we  here  .? 

Ijick.  The  young  captain,  sir  ;  no  less  a  person,  I 
a.ssure  you. 

Scene  VI.  —  Luckless,  Witmore,  Marplay,  jun. 
Mar.jun.    Mr.  Luckless,  I  kiss  your  hands 


Sir,  I  am  your  most  obedient  humble  servant ;  you 
see,  Mr.  Luckless,  what  power  you  have  over  me.  I 
attend  your  conmiands,  though  several  persons  of 
quality  have  staid  at  court  for  me  above  this 
hour. 

Luck.    I  am  obliged  to  you  —  I  have  a  tragedy  for 
your  house,  Mr.  M  irplay. 

[15] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Mar.  Jim.  Ha !  if  you  will  send  it  to  me,  I  will 
give  you  my  opinion  of  it ;  and  if  I  can  make  any 
alterations  in  it  that  will  be  for  its  advantage,  I  will 
do  it  freely. 

Wit.    Alterations,  sir  ? 

Mar.jun.  Yes,  sir,  alterations  —  I  will  maintain 
it.  Let  a  play  be  never  so  good,  without  alteration 
it  will  do  nothing. 

Wit,    Very  odd  indeed  ! 

Mar.jun.    Did  you  ever  write,  sir  ? 

Wit.    No,  sir,  I  thank  Heaven. 

Mar.jun.  Oh!  your  humble  servant  —  your  very 
humble  servant,  sir.  When  you  write  yourself,  you 
will  find  the  necessity  of  alterations.  Why,  sir, 
would  you  guess  that  I  had  altered  Shakspeare .'' 

Wit.    Yes,  faith,  sir,  no  one  sooner. 

Mar.  jun.  Alack-a-day !  Was  you  to  see  the 
plays  when  they  are  brought  to  us  —  a  parcel  of 
crude  undigested  stuff.  We  are  the  persons,  sir, 
who  lick  them  into  form  —  that  mould  them  into 
shape.  The  poet  make  the  play  indeed  !  the  colour- 
man  might  be  as  well  said  to  make  the  pictui-e,  or 
the  weaver  the  coat.  My  father  and  I,  sir,  are  a 
couple  of  poetical  tailors.  When  a  play  is  brought 
us,  we  consider  it  as  a  tailor  does  his  coat :  we  cut 
it,  sir  —  we  cut  it ;  and  let  me  tell  you  we  have  the 
exact  measure  of  the  town ;  we  know  how  to  fit 
their  taste.  The  poets,  between  you  and  me,  are 
a  pack  of  ignorant 

Wit.  Hold,  hold,  sir.  This  is  not  quite  so  civil 
to  Mr.  Luckless ;  besides,  as  1  take  it,  you  have 
done  the  town  the  honour  of  writing  yourself. 

[16] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Mar.jiin.  Sir,  you  are  a  man  of  sense,  and  express 
yourself  well.  I  did,  as  you  say,  once  make  a  small 
sally  into  Parnassus  —  took  a  sort  of  flying  leap  over 
Helicon;  but  if  ever  they  catch  me  there  again  — 
sir,  the  town  have  a  prejudice  to  my  family  ;  for,  if 
anv  play  could  have  made  them  ashamed  to  damn 
it,  mine  must.  It  was  all  over  plot.  It  would  have 
made  half  a  dozen  novels  :  nor  was  it  crammed  with 
a  pack  of  wit-traps,  like  Congreve  and  Wycherly, 
where  every  one  knows  when  the  joke  was  coming. 
I  defy  the  sharpest  critick  of  them  all  to  have  known 
when  any  jokes  of  mine  were  coming.  The  dialogue 
was  plain,  easy,  and  natural,  and  not  one  single  joke 
in  it  from  the  beginning  to  the  end  :  besides,  sir, 
there  was  one  scene  of  tender  melancholy  conversa- 
tion —  enough  to  have  melted  a  heart  of  stone  ;  and 
yet  they  damned  it  —  and  they  damned  themselves  ; 
for  they  shall  have  no  more  of  mine. 

Wit.    Take  pity  on  the  town,  sir, 

Mar.jun.  I!  No,  sir,  no.  Til  write  no  more. 
No  more  ;    unless  I  am   forced  to  it. 

Liu:k.    That 's  no  easy  thing,  Marplay. 

Mar.jun.  Yes,  sir.  Odes,  odes,  a  man  may  be 
obliged  to  write  those,  you  know. 

Luck,  and  Wit.    Ha,  ha,  ha  !  that 's  true  indeed. 

LiicTc.    But  about  my  tragedy,  Mr.  Marplay. 

Mar.jun.  I  believe  my  father  is  at  the  playhouse  : 
if  you  please,  we  will  read  it  now  ;  but  I  must  call 

on   a  young  lady  first Hey,  who 's  there  ?     Is 

my  footman   there  ?     Order  my  chair  to  the  door. 
Your  servant,  gentlemen.  —  Caro  vien. 

\^Ea>ity  singling 
TOL.  n. -2  [  17  ] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Wit.    This  is  the  most  finished  gentleman  I  ever 
saw  ;  and  hath  not,  I  dare  swear,  his  equal. 
Luclc.    If  he  has,  here  he  comes. 

Scene  VII.  —  Luckless,  Witmore,  Bookweight. 

Luck.    Mr.  Bookweight,  your  very  humble  servant. 

Book:  I  was  told,  sir,  that  you  had  particular 
business  with  me. 

Luck.  Yes,  Mr.  Bookweight ;  I  have  something 
to  put  into  your  hands.  I  have  a  play  for  you,  Mr. 
Bookweight. 

Book.    Is  it  accepted,  sir  ? 

Luck.    Not  yet. 

Book,  Oh,  sir !  when  it  is,  it  will  be  then  time 
enough  to  talk  about  it.  A  play,  like  a  bill,  is  of 
no  value  till  it  is  accepted  ;  nor  indeed  when  it  is, 
very  often.  Besides,  sir,  our  playhouses  are  grown 
so  plenty,  and  our  actors  so  scarce,  that  really  plays 
are  become  very  bad  commodities.  But  pray,  sir, 
do  you  offer  it  to  the  players  or  the  patentees  } 

Luck.    Oh  !  to  the  players,  certainly. 

Book.  You  are  in  the  right  of  that.  But  a  play 
which  will  do  on  the  stage  will  not  always  do  for  us ; 
there  are  your  acting  plays  and  your  reading  plays. 

Wit.    I  do  not  understand  that  distinction. 

Book.  Why,  sir,  your  acting  play  is  entirely  sup- 
ported by  the  merit  of  the  actor ;  in  which  case,  it 
signifies  very  little  whether  there  be  any  sense  in  it 
or  no.  Now,  your  reading  play  is  of  a  different 
stamp,  and  must  have  wit  and  meaning  in  it.  These 
latter  I  call  your  substantive,  as  being  able  to  sup- 

[18] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

2  ort  themselves.  The  former  are  your  adjective,  as 
what  require  the  buffoonery  and  gestures  of  an  actor 
to  be  joined  with  them  to  shew  their  signification. 

Wit.    Very  learnedly  defined,  truly. 

Lncl:  Well,  but,  Mr.  Bookweight,  will  you  ad- 
vance fifty  guineas  on  my  play  ? 

Book.  Fifty  guineas !  Yes,  sir.  You  shall  have 
them  with  all  my  heart,  if  you  will  give  me  security 
for  them.  Fifty  guineas  for  a  play !  Sir,  I  would 
not  give  fifty  shillings. 

Luck.  'Sdeath,  sir !  do  you  beat  me  down  at  this 
rate  ? 

Book:  No,  nor  fifty  farthings.  Fifty  guineas ! 
Indeed  your  name   is   well   worth   that. 

Liuk.  Jack,  take  this  worthy  gentleman  and 
kick  him  down  stairs. 

Book.    Sir,  I  shall  make  you  repent  this. 

Jack.   Come,  sir,  will  you  please  to  brush  ? 

Book.  Help  !  murder  !  I  '11  have  the  law  of  you, 
sir. 

Luck.    Ha,  ha,  ha ! 


Scene  VIII.  —  Luckless,  Witmore,  Mrs. 

MoNEYWOOD. 

Money.  What  noise  is  this .?  It  is  a  very  fine 
thing,  truly,  Mr.  Luckless,  that  you  will  make  these 
uproars  in  my  house. 

Luck.  If  you  dislike  it,  it  is  in  your  power  to 
drown  a  much  greatei'.  Do  you  but  speak,  niadan), 
and  I  am  sure  no  one  will  be  heard  but  yourself 

Money.    Very  well,  indeed  !  fine  reflexions  on  my 

[19] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

character  !  Sir,  sir,  all  the  neighbours  know  that  I 
have  been  as  quiet  a  woman  as  ever  lived  in  the  par- 
ish. I  had  no  noises  in  my  house  till  you  came.  We 
were  the  family  of  love.  But  you  have  been  a  nu- 
sance  to  the  whole  neighbourhood.  While  you  had 
money,  my  doors  were  thundered  at  every  morning  at 
four  and  five,  by  coachmen  and  chairmen  ;  and  since 
you  have  had  none,  my  house  has  been  besieged  all 
day  by  creditors  and  bailiffs.  Then  there 's  the  rascal 
your  man  ;  but  I  will  pay  the  dog,  I  will  scour  him. 
Sir,  I  am  glad  you  are  a  witness  of  his  abuses  of  me. 

Wit.  I  am  indeed,  madam,  a  witness  how  unjustly 
he  has  abused  you.  [Jack  whispers  Luckless. 

Luck.     Witmore,  excuse  me  a  moment. 

ScKNE  IX.  —  Mrs.  Moneywood,  Witmore. 

Money.  Yes,  sir ;  and,  sir,  a  man  that  has  never 
shewn  one  the  colour  of  his  money. 

Wit.  Very  hard,  truly.  How  much  may  he  be  in 
your  debt,  pray  ?  Because  he  has  ordered  me  to  pay 
you. 

Money.    Ay  !  sir,  I  wish  he  had. 

Wit.    I  am  serious,  I  assure  you. 

Money.  I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it,  sir.  Here  is 
the  bill  as  we  settled  it  this  very  morning.  I  always 
thought,  indeed,  Mr.  Luckless  had  a  great  deal  of 
honesty  in  his  principles  :  any  man  may  be  unfor- 
tunate ;  but  I  knew  when  he  had  money  I  should 
have  it ;  and  what  signifies  dunning  a  man  when  he 
hath  it  not  ?  Now  that  is  a  way  with  some  people 
which  I  could  never  come  in  to. 

[20] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Wit.  There,  madam,  is  your  money.  You  may 
give  Mr.  Luckless  the  receipt. 

Money.  Sir,  I  give  you  both  a  great  many  thanks. 
I  am  sure  it  is  ahnost  as  charitable  as  if  you  gave  it 
me  ;  for  I  am  to  make  up  a  sum  to-morrow  morning. 
Well,  if  Mr.  Luckless  was  but  a  little  soberer  I  should 
like  him  for  a  lodger  exceedingly  :  for  I  must  say,  I 
think  him  a  very  pleasant  good-humoured  man. 

Scene  X.  —  Luckless,  Witmore,  Moneywood. 

LucTx:.  Those  are  words  I  never  heard  out  of  that 
mouth  before. 

Money.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  you  are  pleased  to  be  merry : 
ha,  ha  ! 

LiLck.  "Why,  Witmore,  thou  hast  the  faculty  op- 
posite to  that  of  a  witch,  and  canst  lay  a  tempest. 
I  should  as  soon  have  imagined  one  man  could 
have  stopt  a  cannon-ball  in  its  full  force  as  her 
tongue. 

Money.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  he  is  the  best  company  in 
the  world,  sir,  and  so  full  of  his  similitudes  ! 

Wit.  Luckless,  good  morrow ;  I  shall  see  you  soon 
again. 

Luck.  Let  it  be  soon,  I  beseech  you  ;  for  thou 
hast  brouijht  a  calm  into  this  house  that  was  scarce 
ever  in  it  before. 


Scene  XI.  —  Luckless,  Mrs.  Moneywood,  Jack. 

Money.    Well,   Mr.   Luckless,   you  are  a  comical 
man,  to  give  one  such  a  character  to  a  stranger. 

1^1] 


THE    AUTHOirS    FARCE 

Luch.  The  company  is  gone,  madam  ;  and  now, 
like  true  man  and  wife,  we  may  fall  to  abusing  one 
another  as  fast  as  we  please. 

Money.  Abuse  me  as  you  please,  so  you  pay  me, 
sir. 

Luck.    'Sdeath  !  madam,  I  will  pay  you. 

Money.  Nay,  sir,  I  do  not  ask  it  before  it  is  due. 
I  don't  question  your  payment  at  all :  if  you  was  to 
stay  in  my  house  this  quarter  of  a  year,  as  I  hope 
you  will,  I  should  not  ask  you  for  a  farthing. 

Luck.  Toll,  loll,  loll.  —  But  I  shall  have  her  be- 
gin with  her  passion  immediately  ;  and  I  had  rather 
be  the  o1)ject  of  her  rage  for  a  year  than  of  her  love 
for  half  an  hour. 

Money.  But  why  did  you  choose  to  surprise  me 
with  my  money  ?  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  you 
would  pay  me .'' 

Liick.    Why,  have  I  not  told  you  ? 

Money.  Yes,  you  told  me  of  a  play,  and  stuff: 
but  you  never  told  me  you  would  order  a  gentleman 
to  pay  me.  A  sweet,  pretty,  good-humoured  gentle- 
man he  is,  heaven  bless  him  !  Well,  you  have  comi- 
cal ways  with  you  :  but  you  have  honesty  at  the 
bottom,  and  I'm  sure  the  gentleman  himself  will 
own  I  gave  you  that  character. 

Luck.  Oh  !  I  smell  you  now.  —  You  see,  madam, 
I  am  better  than  my  word  to  you :  did  he  pay  it  you 
in  gold  or  silver.'* 

Money.    All  pure  gold. 

Luck.  I  have  a  vast  deal  of  silver,  which  he  brought 
me,  within  ;  will  you  do  me  the  favour  of  taking  it 
in  silver  ?  that  Mill  be  of  use  to  you  in  the  shop  too. 

[  22  ] 


THE    AUTIIOirS    FARCE 

Money.    Anything  to  oblige  you,  sir. 

Luclx:.  Jack,  bring  out  the  great  bag,  number  one. 
Please  to  tell  the  money,  madam,  on  that  table. 

Money.  It  \s  easily  told  :  heaven  knows  there 's 
not  so  much  on  ""t. 

Jack.  Sir,  the  bag  is  so  heavy,  I  cannot  bring  it  in. 

Luclc.  Why,  then,  come  and  help  to  thrust  a 
heavier  bag  out. 

Money.    What  do  you  mean  .'' 

I  Aide.    Only  to  pay  you  in  my  bed-chamber. 

Money.  Villain,  dog,  I'll  swear  a  robbery,  and 
have  you  hanged  :  rogues,  villains  ! 

Luclc.  Be  as  noisy  as  you  please  — yShtds  the  door^ 
Jack,  call  a  coach  ;  and,  d'  ye  hear  .'*  get  up  behind  it 
and  attend  me. 


[23  J 


ACT   II 

Scene  I.  —  The  Playhouse.  —  Luckless,  Marplay, 
senior,  Marplay,  junior. 

Luclc.    [^Reads.^    "  Then  hence    my  sorrow,  hence 
my  evVy  fear ; 
No  matter  where,  so  we  are  bless'd  together. 
With  thee,  the  barren  rocks,  where  not  one  step 
Of  human  race  lies  printed  in  the  snow. 
Look  lovely  as  the  smiling  infant  spring.*" 
Mar.  sen.    Augh !    will  you  please  to    read    that 
again,  sir  ? 

Luck.  "Then  hence  my  sorrow,  hence  my  evVy 
fear." 

Mar.  sen.  "  Then  hence  my  sorrow."  —  Horror  is 
a  much  better  word.  —  And  then  in  the  second  line 
—  "  No  matter  where,  so  we  are  bless'd  together."  — 
Undoubtedly,  it  should  be,  "No  matter  where,  so 
somewhere  we  're  together."  Where  is  the  question, 
somewhere  is  the  answer.  —  Read  on,  sir. 

Luck.  "  With  thee, " 

Mar.  sen.  No,  no,  I  could  alter  those  lines  to  a 
much  better  idea. 

"With  thee,  the  barren  blocks,  wliere  not  a  bit 
Of  human  face  is  painted  on  the  bark. 
Look  green  as  Covent-garden  in  the  spring." 

[24] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Luck.    Green  as  Covent-garden  ! 
Mar.jun.    Yes,  jes;  Covent-garden  market,  where 
they  sell  greens. 
Luck.    Monstrous  ! 
Mar.  sen.    Pray,  sir,  read  on. 

Lu£k.    "  Leandea  :    oh,    my    Harmonio,    I    could 
hear  thee  still ; 
The  nightingale  to  thee  sings  out  of  tune, 
While  on  thy  faithful  breast  my  head  reclines, 
The  downy  pillow  's  hard  ;  while  from  thy  lips 
I  drink  delicious  draughts  of  nectar  down, 
Falernian  wines  seem  bitter  to  my  taste." 
Mar.jun.    Here's  meat,  drink,  singing,  and  lodg- 
ing, egad. 

Luck.    He  answers. 
Mar.jun.    But,  sir  — 

Luck.    "  Oh,  let  me  pull  thee,  press  thee  to  my 
heart, 
Thou  rising  spring  of  everlasting  sweets  ! 
Take  notice.  Fortune,  I  forgive  thee  all ! 
Thou  'st  made  Leandra  mine.     Thou  flood  of  joy 
Mix  with  my  soul,  and  rush  thro'  ev'ry  vein." 
Mar.  sen.    Those  two  last  lines  again  if  you  please. 
Luck.    "  Thou  'st  made,"  kc. 

Mar.jun.    " Thou  flood  of  joy, 

Mix  with  my  soul  and  rush  thro'  ev'ry  vein." 
Those  are  two  excellent  lines  indeed :  I  never  writ 

better  myself:  but,  Sar 

Lucli.    "  Leandra 's  mine,  go  bid  the  tongue  of  fote 
Pronounce  another  word  of  bliss  like  that; 
Search  thro'  the  eastern  mines  and  golden  shores, 
Where  lavisli  Nature  pours  forth  all  her  stores  ; 

[25] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

For  to  my  lot  could  all  her  treasures  fall, 
I  would  not  change  Leandra  lor  them  all." 
1  here  ends  act  the  first,  and  such  an  act  as,  I  believe, 
never  was  on  this  stage  yet. 

Mar.  Jim.    Nor  never  will,  I  hope. 

Mar.  sen.    Pray,  sir,  let  me  look  at  one  thing. 

"  Falernian  wines  seem  bitter  to  my  taste." 

Pray,  sir,  what  sort  of  wines  may  your  Falernian 
be  ?  for  I  never  heard  of  them  before  ;  and  I  am  sure, 
as  I  keep  the  best  company,  if  there  had  been  such 
sorts  of  wines,  I  should  have  tasted  them.  Tokay 
I  have  drank,  and  Lacrimge  I  have  drank,  but  what 
your  Falernian  is,  the  devil  take  me  if  I  can  tell. 

Mar.jun.  I  fancy,  father,  these  wines  grow  at  the 
top  of  Parnassus. 

Luck.  Do  they  so,  Mr.  Pert  ?  why  then  I  fancy 
you  have  never  tasted  them. 

Mar.  sen.  Suppose  you  should  say  the  wines  of 
Cape  are  bitter  to  my  taste. 

Luck.    Sir,  I  cannot  alter  it. 

Mar.  sen.  Nor  we  cannot  act  it.  It  won't  do, 
sir,  and  so  you  need  give  yourself  no  farther  trouble 
about  it. 

Luck.    WTiat  particular  fault  do  you  find  ? 

Mar.  jun.  Sar,  there 's  nothing  that  touches  me, 
nothing  that  is  coercive  to  my  passions. 

Lu£k.  Fare  you  well,  sir :  may  another  play  be 
coercive  to  your  passions. 


[26] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 


Scene  II.  —  Marplay,  senior,  Marplay,  junior. 

Mar.  sen.    Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

Mar.jun.    What  do  you  think  of  the  play  ? 

Mar.  sen.  It  may  be  a  very  good  one,  for  aught  I 
know  :  but  I  am  resolved,  since  the  town  will  not 
receive  any  of  mine,  they  shall  have  none  from  any 
other.     I  '11  keep  them  to  their  old  diet. 

Mar.jun.    But  suppose  they  won't  feed  on  't  ? 

Mar.  sen.  Then  it  shall  be  crammed  down  their 
throats. 

Mar.jun.  I  wish,  father,  you  would  leave  me 
that  art  for  a  legacy,  since  I  am  afraid  I  am  like  to 
have  no  other  from  you. 

Mar.  sen.  'Tis  buff,  child,  'tis  buff —  tme  Corin- 
thian brass ;  and,  heaven  be  praised,  tho'  I  have 
given  thee  no  gold,  I  have  given  thee  enough  of 
that,  which  is  the  better  inheritance  of  the  two. 
Gold  thou  might'st  have  spent,  but  this  is  a  lasting 
estate  that  will  stick  by  thee  all  thy  life. 

Mar.jtm.  What  shall  be  done  with  that  farce 
which  was  damned  last  nisht  ? 

Mar.  sen.  Give  it  them  again  to-morrow.  I  have 
told  some  persons  of  quality  that  it  is  a  good  thing, 
and  I  am  resolved  not  to  be  in  the  wrono; :  let  us 
see  which  will  be  weary  first,  the  town  of  damning, 
or  we  of  being  damned. 

Mar.jtm.    Rat  the  town,  I  say. 

Mar.  sen.  That 's  a  good  boy ;  and  so  say  I :  but, 
prithee,  what  didst  thou  do  with  the  comedy  which  I 
gave  thee  t'  other  day,  that  I  thought  a  good  one .? 

[27] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Mar.jtin.  Did  as  you  ordered  me  ;  returned  it  to 
the  author,  and  told  him  it  would  not  do. 

Mar.  sen.  You  did  well.  If  thou  writest  thyself, 
and  that  I  know  thou  art  very  well  qualified  to  do, 
vt  is  thy  interest  to  keep  back  all  other  authors  of 
any  merit,  and  be  as  forward  to  advance  those  of 
none. 

Mar.jtin.  But  I  am  a  little  afraid  of  writing  ;  for 
my  writings,  you  know,  have  fared  but  ill  hitherto. 

Mar.  sen.  That  is  because  thou  hast  a  little  mis- 
taken the  method  of  writing.  The  art  of  writing, 
boy,  is  the  art  of  stealing  old  plays,  by  changing  the 
name  of  the  play,  and  new  ones,  by  changing  the 
name  of  the  author. 

Mar.jun.  If  it  was  not  for  these  cursed  hisses  and 
catcalls 

Alar.  sen.  Harmless  musick,  child,  very  harmless 
musick,  and  what,  when  one  is  but  well  seasoned  to 
it,  has  no  effect  at  all :  for  my  part,  I  have  been 
used  to  them. 

Mar.jun.  Ay,  and  I  have  been  used  to  them  too, 
for  that  matter. 

Mar.  sen.  And  stood  them  bravely  too.  Idle 
young  actors  are  fond  of  applause,  but,  take  my 
word  for  it,  a  clap  is  a  mighty  silly,  empty  thing, 
and  does  no  more  good  than  a  hiss  ;  and,  therefore, 
if  any  man  loves  hissing,  he  may  have  his  three 
shillings  worth  at  me  whenever  he  pleases. 

\^Exeimt, 


[28] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 


Scene  III.  —  A  Room  in  Bookweight's  house.  —  Dash, 
BlotpagEj  Quibble^  writing  at  several  tables. 

Dash.  Pox  on  't,  I  'm  as  dull  as  an  ox,  tho'  I  have 
not  a  bit  of  one  within  me.  I  have  not  dined  these 
two  days,  and  yet  my  head  is  as  heavy  as  any  alder- 
man's or  lord's.  I  carry  about  me  symbols  of  all  the 
elements ;  my  head  is  as  heavy  as  water,  my  pockets 
are  as  light  as  air,  my  appetite  is  as  hot  as  fire,  and 
my  coat  is  as  dirty  as  earth. 

Blot.  Lend  me  your  Bysshe,  Mr.  Dash,  I  want  a 
rhime  for  wind. 

Dash.  Why  there  's  blind,  and  kind,  and  behind, 
and  find,  and  mind  :  it  is  of  the  easiest  termination 
imaginable  ;  I  have  had  it  four  times  in  a  page. 

Blot.    None  of  those  words  will  do. 

Dash.  Why  then  you  may  use  any  that  end  in 
ond,  or  and,  or  end.  I  am  never  so  exact :  if  the 
two  last  letters  are  alike,  it  will  do  very  well.  Read 
the  verse. 

Blot.    "  Inconstant  as  the  seas  or  as  the  wind." 

Dash.    WTiat  would  you  express  in  the  next  line  ? 

Blot.  Nay,  that  I  don't  know,  for  the  sense  is  out 
already.     I  would  say  something  about  inconstancy. 

Dash.  I  can  lend  you  a  verse,  and  it  will  do  very 
well  too. 

"  Inconstancy  will  never  have  an  end." 

End  rhimes  very  well  with  wind. 

Blot.  It  will  do  well  enough  for  the  middle  of  a 
poem. 

[29] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Dash.  Ay,  ay,  anything  will  do  well  enough  for 
the  middle  of  a  poem.  If  you  can  but  get  twenty 
good  lines  to  place  at  the  beginning  for  a  taste,  it 
will  sell  very  well. 

Qiiih.  So  that,  according  to  you,  Mr.  Dash,  a  poet 
acts  pretty  much  on  the  same  principles  with  an 
oister-woman. 

Dash.  Pox  take  your  simile,  it  has  set  my  chaps 
a  watering :  but  come,  let  us  leave  off  work  for  a 
while,  and  hear  Mr.  Quibble's  song. 

Qidh.  My  pipes  are  pure  and  clear,  and  my  stomach 
is  as  hollow  as  any  trumpet  in  Europe. 

Dash.   Come,  the  song. 

SONG. 
AIR.     Ye  Commons  and  Peers. 

How  unhappy  's  the  fate 

To  live  by  one's  pate. 
And  be  forced  to  write  hackney  for  bread  ! 

An  author  's  a  joke 

To  all  manner  of  folk, 
Wherever  he  pops  up  his  head,  his  head. 
Wherever  he  pops  up  his  head. 

Tho'  he  mount  on  that  hack, 

Old  Pegasus'  back. 
And  of  Hehcon  drink  till  he  burst. 

Yet  a  curse  of  those  streams, 

Poetical  dreams. 
They  never  can  quench  one's  thirst,  &c 

Ah  !  how  should  he  fly 

On  fancy  so  high, 
When  his  limbs  are  in  durance  and  hold? 

Or  how  should  he  charm. 

With  genius  so  warm, 
When  his  poor  naked  body  's  a  cold,  &c. 

[  30  ] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Scene  IV.  —  Bookweight,  Dash,  Quibble, 
Blotpage. 

Book.  Fie  upon  it,  gentlemen  !  what,  not  at  your 
pens?  Do  you  consider,  Mr.  Quibble,  that  it  is  a 
fortnight  since  your  Letter  to  a  Friend  in  the  Coun- 
try was  published .''  Is  it  not  high  time  for  an 
Answer  to  come  out .''  At  this  rate,  before  your  An- 
swer is  printed,  your  Letter  will  be  forgot.  I  love 
to  keep  a  controversy  up  warm.  I  have  had  authors 
who  have  writ  a  pamphlet  in  the  morning,  answered 
it  in  the  afternoon,  and  answered  that  again  at  night. 

Quih.  Sir,  I  will  be  as  expeditious  as  possible  :  but 
it  is  harder  to  write  on  this  side  the  question,  because 
it  is  the  wrong  side. 

Book.  Not  a  jot.  So  far  on  the  contrary,  that  I 
have  known  some  authors  choose  it  as  the  properest 
to  shew  their  genius.  But  let  me  see  what  you  have 
produced ;  "  With  all  deference  to  what  that  very 
learned  and  most  ingenious  person,  in  his  Letter  to  a 
Friend  in  the  Country,  hath  advanced.*"  Very  well, 
sir  ;  for,  besides  that,  it  may  sell  more  of  the  Letter : 
all  controversial  writers  should  begin  with  compli- 
menting tiieir  adversaries,  as  prize-fighters  kiss  be- 
fore they  engage.  Let  it  be  finished  with  all  speed. 
Well,  Mr.  Dash,  have  you  done  that  murder  yet .'' 

Dash.  Yes,  sir,  the  murder  is  done;  I  am  only 
about  a  few  moral  reflexions  to  place  before  it. 

Book.  Very  well :  then  let  me  have  the  ghost 
finished  by  this  day  se'nnight. 

Dash.  What  sort  of  a  ghost  would  you  have  this, 
sir  ?  the  last  was  a  pale  one. 

[31] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

Book.  Then  let  this  be  a  bloody  one.  Mr.  Quibble, 
you  may  lay  by  that  life  which  you  are  about ;  for  I 
hear  the  person  is  recovered,  and  write  me  out  pro- 
posals for  delivering  five  sheets  of  Mr.  Bailey's  Eng- 
lish Dictionary  every  week,  till  the  whole  be  finished. 
If  you  do  not  know  the  form,  you  may  copy  the 
proposals  for  printing  Bayle's  Dictionary  in  the  same 
manner.     The  same  words  will  do  for  both. 

Enter  Index. 

So,  Mr.  Index,  what  news  with  you  ? 
Index.  I  have  brought  my  bill,  sir. 
Book.  Whafs  here.?  For  fitting  the  motto  of 
Risum  teneatis  Amici  to  a  dozen  pamphlets,  at  six- 
pence per  each,  six  shillings  ;  for  Omnia  vincit  Amor, 
et  nos  cedamus  Amori,  sixpence;  for  Difficile  est 
Satyram  non  scribere,  sixpence.  Hum  !  hum  !  hum  I 
—  sum  total  for  thirty-six  Latin  mottoes,  eighteen 
shillings ;  ditto  English,  one  shilling  and  ninepence  ; 
ditto  Greek,  four  —  four  shillings.  These  Greek 
mottoes  are  excessively  dear. 

Ind.  If  you  have  them  cheaper  at  either  of  the 
universities,  I  will  give  you  mine  for  nothing. 

Book.  You  shall  have  your  money  immediately ; 
and  pray  remember,  that  I  must  have  two  Latin 
seditious  mottoes  and  one  Greek  moral  motto  for 
pamphlets  by  to-morrow  morning. 

Quib.  I  want  two  Latin  sentences,  sir  —  one  for 
page  the  fourth  in  the  praise  of  loyalty,  and  another 
for  page  the  tenth  in  praise  of  liberty  and  property. 

Dash.  The  ghost  would  become  a  motto  very 
well  if  you  would  bestow   one   on   him. 

[32] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

Book.    Let  me  have  them  all. 

Ind.  Sir,  I  shall  provide  them.  Be  pleased  to 
look  on  that,  sir,  and  print  me  five  hundred  pro- 
posals and  as   many  receipts. 

Book.  "  Proposals  for  printing  by  subscription  a 
New  Translation  of  Cicero  Of  the  Nature  of  the 
Gods,  and  his  Tusculan  Questions,  by  Jeremy  Index, 
Esq.""  I  am  sorry  you  have  undertaken  this,  for  it 
prevents    a  design    of  mine. 

Ind.  Indeed,  sir,  it  does  not ;  for  you  see  all 
of  the  book  that  I  ever  intend  to  publish.  It  is 
only  a  handsome  way  of  asking  one's  friends  for  a 
guinea. 

Book.  Then  you  have  not  translated  a  word  of 
it,  perhaps. 

Ind.    Not  a  single  syllable. 

Book.  Well,  you  shall  have  your  proposals  forth- 
with :  but  I  desire  you  would  be  a  little  more  reason- 
able in  your  bills  for  the  future,  or  I  shall  deal 
with  you  no  longer ;  for  I  have  a  certain  fellow  of 
a  college,  who  offers  to  furnish  me  with  second- 
hand mottoes  out  of  the  Spectator  for  twopence 
each. 

Ind.  Sir,  I  only  desire  to  live  by  my  goods  ;  and 
I  hope  you  will  be  pleased  to  allow  some  difference 
between  a  neat  fresh  piece,  piping  hot  out  of  the 
classicks,  and  old  threadbare  worn-out  stuff  that  has 
past  through  every  pedant's  mouth  and  been  as 
common  at  the  universities  as  their  whores. 


VOL.  11.  — 3  [33] 


THE    AUTHOR  S    FARCE 


Scene  V.  —  Bookweight,  Dash,  Quibble,  Blotpage, 

Scarecrow. 

Scare.  Sir,  I  have  brought  you  a  libel  against  the 
ministry. 

Book.  Sir,  I  shall  not  take  anything  against  them  ; 
• —  for  I  have  two  in  the  press  already.  YAside. 

Scare.  Then,  sir,  I  have  an  Apology  in  defence  of 
them. 

Book.  That  I  shall  not  meddle  with  neither  ;  they 
don't  sell  so  well. 

Scare.  I  have  a  translation  of  Virgil's  ^Eneid,  with 
notes  on  it,  if  we  can  agree  about  the  price. 

Book.    Why,  what  price  would  you  have  ? 

Scare.  You  shall  read  it  first,  otherwise  how  will 
you  know  the  value  ? 

Book.  No,  no,  sir,  I  never  deal  that  way  —  a  poem 
is  a  poem,  and  a  pamphlet  a  pamphlet  with  me. 
Give  me  a  good  handsome  large  volume,  with  a  full 
promising  title-page  at  the  head  of  it,  printed  on  a 
good  paper  and  letter,  the  whole  well  bound  and 
gilt,  and  I  '11  warrant  its  selling.  You  have  the 
common  error  of  authors,  who  think  people  buy 
books  to  read.  No,  no,  books  are  only  bought  to 
furnish  libraries,  as  pictures  and  glasses,  and  beds 
and  chairs,  are  for  other  rooms.  Look  ye,  sir,  I 
don't  like  your  title-page :  however,  to  oblige  a 
young  beginner,  I  don't  care  if  I  do  print  it  at  my 
own  expence. 

Scare.    But  pray,  sir,  at  whose  expence  shall  I  eat  ? 

Book.    At  whose?     Why,  at  mine,  sir,  at  mine. 

[34] 


THE    AUTHOR  S    FARCE 

I  am  as  great  a  friend  to  learning  as  the  Dutch  are 
to  trade :  no  one  can  want  bread  with  me  who  will 
earn  it  ;  therefore,  sir,  if  you  please  to  take  your 
seat  at  my  table,  here  will  be  everything  necessary 
provided  for  you  :  good  milk  porridge,  very  often 
twice  a  day,  which  is  good  wholesome  food  and 
proper  for  students ;  a  translator  too  is  what  I  want 
at  present,  my  last  being  in  Newgate  for  shop-lifting. 
The  rogue  had  a  trick  of  ti^anslating  out  of  the  shops 
as  well  as  the  languages. 

Scare.  But  I  am  afraid  I  am  not  qualified  for  a 
translator,  for  I  understand  no  language  but  my 
own. 

Book.    What,  and  translate  Virgil  ? 

Scare.    Alas  !  I  translated  him  out  of  Dryden. 

Book.  Lay  by  your  hat,  sir  —  lay  by  your  hat, 
and  take  your  seat  immediately.  Not  qualified  !  — 
thou  art  as  well  versed  in  thy  trade  as  if  thou  hadst 
laboured  in  my  garret  these  ten  years.  Let  me  tell 
you,  friend,  you  will  have  more  occasion  for  invention 
than  learning  here.  You  will  be  obliged  to  translate 
books  out  of  all  languages,  especially  French,  that 
were  never  printed  in  any  language  whatsoever. 

Scare.    Your  trade  abounds  in  mysteries. 

Book.  The  study  of  bookselling  is  as  difficult  as 
the  law  :  and  there  are  as  many  tricks  in  the  one  as 
the  other.  Sometimes  we  give  a  foreign  name  to 
our  own  labours,  and  sometimes  we  put  our  names 
to  the  labours  of  others.  Then,  as  the  lawyers  have 
John-a-Nokes  and  Tom-a-Stiles,  so  we  have  Messieurs 
Moore  near  St.  PauPs  and  Smith  near  the  Royal  Ex- 
change. 

[35] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 


Scene  VI.  —  To  them,  Luckless. 

Liick.  Mr.  Bookvveight,  your  servant.  Who  can 
form  to  himself  an  idea  more  amiable  than  of  a  man 
at  the  head  of  so  many  patriots  working  for  the 
benefit  of  their  country. 

Book.  Truly,  sir,  I  believe  it  is  an  idea  more  agree- 
able to  you  than  that  of  a  gentleman  in  the  Crown- 
office  paying  thirty  or  forty  guineas  for  abusing  an 
honest  tradesman. 

Luch.  Pshaw  !  that  was  only  jocosely  done,  and 
a  man  who  lives  by  wit  must  not  be  angry  at  a 
jest. 

Book.  Look  ye,  sir,  if  you  have  a  mind  to  com- 
promise the  matter,  and  have  brought  me  any 
money  — 

Luck.  Hast  thou  been  in  thy  trade  so  long,  and 
talk  of  money  to  a  modern  author  .?  You  might  as 
well  have  talked  Latin  or  Greek  to  him.  I  have 
brought  you  paper,  sir. 

Book.  That  is  not  bringing  me  money,  I  own. 
Have  you  brought  me  an  opera.? 

Liick.  You  may  call  it  an  opera  if  you  will,  but  I 
call  it  a  puppet-show. 

Book.    A  puppet-show  ! 

Luck.  Ay,  a  puppet-show  ;  and  is  to  be  played 
this  night  at  Drury-lane  playhouse. 

Book.    A  puppet-show  in  a  playhouse  ! 

Luck.  Ay,  why,  what  have  been  all  the  playhouses 
a  long  while  but  puppet-shows  ? 

Book.    Why,  I  don't  know  but  it  may  succeed ;  at 

[36] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

least  if  we  can  make  out  a  tolerable  good  title-page : 
so,  if  you  will  walk  in,  if  I  can  make  a  bargain  with 
you  I  will.     Gentlemen,  you  may  go  to  dinner. 


Scene  VII.  —  Enter  Jack- Pudding,  Drummer,  Mob. 

Jack-P.  This  is  to  give  notice  to  all  gentlemen, 
ladies,  and  others,  that  at  the  Theatre  Royal  in 
Drury-lane,  this  evening,  will  be  performed  the  whole 
puppet-show  called  the  Pleasures  of  the  Town  ;  in 
which  will  be  shewn  the  whole  court  of  nonsense, 
with  abundance  of  singing,  dancing,  and  several 
other  entertainments  :  also  the  comical  and  diverting 
humours  of  Some-body  and  No-body  ;  Punch  and  his 
wife  Joan  to  be  performed  by  figures,  some  of  them 
six  foot  high.     God  save  the  King. 

[Drum  beats. 

Scene  VIII.  —  Witmore  with  a  paper,  meeli7ig  Luckless. 

Wit.  Oh  !  Luckless,  I  am  overjoyed  to  meet  you  ; 
here,  take  this  paper,  and  you  will  be  discouraged 
from  writing,  I  warrant  you. 

Luck.    What  is  it  ?  —  Oh  !  one  of  my  play-bills. 

Wit.    One  of  thy  play-bills  ! 

Luck.    Even  so 1  have  taken  the  advice  you 

gave  me  this  morning. 

Wit.    Explain. 

Luck.  Why,  I  had  some  time  since  given  this  per- 
formance of  mine  to  be  rehearsed,  and  the  actors  were 
all  perfect  in  their  parts  ;  but  we  happened  to  differ 
about  some  particulars,  and  I  had  a  design  to  have 

[37] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

given  it  over ;  'till  having  my  play  refused  by  Mar- 
play,  I  sent  for  the  managers  of  the  other  house  in  a 
passion,  joined  issue  with  them,  and  this  very  even- 
ing; it  is  to  be  acted. 

yVit.    Well,  I  wish  you  success, 

IawJc.    Where  are  you  going  ? 

Wit.  Anywhere  but  to  hear  you  danmed,  which  I 
must,  was  I  to  go  to  your  puppet-show. 

Luck.  Indulge  me  in  this  trial ;  and  I  assure  thee, 
if  it  be  successless,  it  shall  be  the  last. 

Wit.  On  that  condition  I  will ;  but  should  the 
torrent  run  against  you,  I  sliall  be  a  fashionable 
friend  and  hiss   with  the   rest. 

Luck.  No,  a  man  who  could  do  so  unfashionable 
and  so  generous  a  thing  as  Mr.  Witmore  did  this 


mornmg 


Wit.    Then  I  hope  you  will  return  it,  by  never 
mentioning  it  to  me  more.     I  will  now  to  the  pit. 
Luck.    And  I  behind  the  scenes. 

Scene  IX.  —  Luckless,  Harriot. 

Luck.    Dear  Harriot ! 

Har.  I  was  going  to  the  playhouse  to  look  after 
you  —  I  am  frightened  out  of  my  wits  —  I  have  left 
my  mother  at  home  with  the  strangest  sort  of  man, 
who  is  inquiring  after  you  :  he  has  raised  a  mob  be- 
fore the  door  by  the  oddity  of  his  appearance  ;  his 
dress  is  like  nothing  I  ever  saw,  and  he  talks  of  kings, 
and  Bantam,  and  the  strangest  stuff. 

Luck.    What  the  devil  can  he  be  ? 

Har.    One  of  your  old  acquaintance,  I  suppose,  in 

[38] 


THE    AUTHOR'S    FARCE 

disguise  —  one  of  his  majesty''s  officers  with  his  com- 
mission in  his  pocket,  I  warrant  him. 

Luck,    Well,  but  have  you  your  part  perfect  ? 

Har.  I  had,  unless  this  fellow  hath  frightened  it 
out  of  my  head  again  ;  but  I  am  afraid  I  shall  play 
it  wretchedly. 

Liiclc.    Why  so  ? 

Har.  I  shall  never  have  assurance  enough  to  go 
through  with  it,  especially  if  they  should  hiss  me. 

Luck.  Oh !  your  mask  will  keep  you  in  counte- 
nance, and  as  for  hissing,  you  need  not  fear  it.  The 
audience  are  generally  so  favourable  to  young  be- 
ginners :  but  hist,  here  is  your  mother  and  she  has 
seen  us.  Adieu,  my  dear,  make  what  haste  you  can 
to  the  playhouse.  [Ea^t. 

Scene  X.  —  Harriot,  Moneywood. 

Har.  I  wish  I  could  avoid  her,  for  I  suppose  we 
shall  have  an  alarum. 

Money.  So,  so,  very  fine  :  always  together,  always 
caterwauling.  How  like  a  hangdog  he  stole  off;  and 
it's  well  for  him  he  did,  for  I  should  have  rung  such 
a  peal  in  his  ears. — There's  a  friend  of  his  at  my 
house  would  be  very  glad  of  his  company,  and  I  wish 
it  was  in  my  power  to  bring  them  together. 

Har.    You  would  not  surely  be  so  barbarous. 

Money.  Barbarous  !  ugh  !  You  whining,  puling 
fool !  Hussey,  you  have  not  a  drop  of  my  blood  in 
you.     What,  you  are  in  love,  I  suppose .'' 

Har.    If  I  was,  madam,  it  would  be  no  crime. 

Money.    Yes,  madam,  but  it  would,  and  a  folly  toa 

[39] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 

No  woman  of  sense  was  ever  in  love  with  anything  but 
a  man's  pocket.  What,  I  suppose  he  has  filled  your 
head  with  a  pack  of  romantick  stuff  of  streams  and 
dreams,  and  charms  and  arms.  I  know  this  is  the 
stuff  they  all  run  on  with,  and  so  run  into  our  debts, 
and  run  away  with  our  daughters.  Come,  confess ; 
are  not  you  two  to  live  in  a  wilderness  together  on 
love .?  Ah !  thou  fool !  thou  wilt  find  he  will  pay 
thee  in  love  just  as  he  has  paid  me  in  money.  If 
thou  wert  resolved  to  go  a-begging,  why  did  you  not 
follow  the  camp  ?  There,  indeed,  you  might  have 
carried  a  knapsack  ;  but  here  you  will  have  no  knap- 
sack to  carry.  There,  indeed,  you  might  have  had 
a  chance  of  burying  half  a  score  husbands  in  a  cam- 
paign ;  whereas  a  poet  is  a  long-lived  animal ;  you 
have  but  one  chance  of  burying  him,  and  that  is, 
starving  him. 

Har.  Well,  madam,  and  I  would  sooner  starve 
with  the  man  I  love  than  ride  in  a  coach  and  six 
with  him  I  hate :  and,  as  for  his  passion,  you  will 
not  make  me  suspect  that,  for  he  hath  given  me 
such  proofs  on"'t. 

Money.  Proofs  !  I  shall  die.  Has  he  given  you 
proofs  of  love  ? 

Har.    All  that  any  modest  woman  can  require. 

Money .  If  he  has  given  you  all  a  modest  woman 
can  require,  I  am  afraid  he  has  given  you  more 
than  a  modest  woman  should  take :  because  he  has 
been  so  good  a  lodger,  I  suppose  I  shall  have 
some  more  of  the  family  to  keep.  It  is  probable 
I  shall  live  to  see  half  a  dozen  gi'andsons  of  mine 
in  Grub-street. 

[40] 


THE    AUTHOR^S    FARCE 


Scene  XL  —  Moneywood,  Harriot^  Jack. 

JacTc.  Oh,  madam  !  the  man  whom  you  took  for  a 
bailiff  is  certainly  some  great  man  ;  he  has  a  vast 
many  jewels  and  other  fine  things  about  him  ;  he 
offered  me  twenty  guineas  to  shew  him  my  master, 
and  has  given  away  so  much  money  among  the  chair- 
men, that  some  folks  believe  he  intends  to  stand 
member  of  parliament  for  Westminster. 

Money.  Nay,  then,  I  am  sure  he  is  worth  inquir- 
ing into.  So,  d  'ye  hear,  sin-ah,  make  as  much  haste 
as  you  can  before  me,  and  desire  him  to  part  with  n(; 
more  money  till  I  come. 

Har.  So,  now  my  mother  is  in  pursuit  of  money, 
I  may  securely  go  in  pursuit  of  my  lover :  and  I  am 
mistaken,  good  mamma,  if  e''en  you  would  not  think 
that  the  better  pursuit  of  the  two. 

In  generous  love  transporting  raptures  lie. 
Which  age,  with  all  its  treasures,  cannot  buy. 


[41] 


THE 

TRAGEDY    OF    TRAGEDIES 

OR,    THE 

LIFE   AND    DEATH    OF   TOM   THUMB 
THE   GREAT 

WITH    THE    ANNOTATIONS    OF    H.    SCRIBLEEUS    SECUNDUS 
First  Acted  in  1730,  and  Altered  in  1731 


H.    SCRIBLERUS   SECUNDUS, 
HIS   PREFACE. 

THE  town  hath  seldom  been  more  divided 
in  its  opinion  than  concerning  the  ment 
of  the  following  scenes.  While  some 
publickly  affirmed  that  no  author  could 

produce  so  fine  a  piece  but  Mr.  P ,  others  have 

with  as  much  vehemence  insisted  that  no  one  could 

write  anything  so  bad  but  Mr.  F . 

Nor  can  we  wonder  at  this  dissension  about  its 
merit,  when  the  learned  world  have  not  unanimously 
decided  even  the  very  nature  of  this  tragedy.  For 
though  most  of  the  universities  in  Europe  have 
honoured  it  with  the  name  of  "  Egregium  et  maximi 
pretii  opus,  tragoediis  tam  antiquis  quam  novis  longe 

anteponendum  ;  "  nay,  Dr.  B hath  pronounced, 

"  Citius  Maevii  ^neadem  quam  Scribleri  istius  trao-oe- 
diam  banc  crediderim,  cujus  autorem  Senecam  ipsum 
tradidisse  baud  dubitarim  : ""  and  the  great  pro- 
fessor Burman  hath  styled  Tom  Thumb  "  Heroum 
omnium  tragicorum  facile  principem  :  "  nay,  though 
it  hath,  among  other  languages,  been  translated 
into  Dutch,  and  celebrated  with  great  applause  at 
Amsterdam  (where  burlesque  never  came)  by  the 
title  of  Mynheer  Vander  Thumb,  the  burgomastei-s 
receiving  it  with  that  reverent  and  silent  attention 
which  becometh  an  audience  at  a  deep  tragedy.    Not- 

[45] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

withstanding  all  this,  there  have  not  been  wanting 
some  who  have  represented  these  scenes  in  a  ludi- 
crous light ;    and   Mr.   D hath  been  heard  to 

say,  with  some  concern,  that  he  wondered  a  tragical 
and  Christian  nation  would  permit  a  representation 
on  its  theatre  so  visibly  designed  to  ridicule  and  ex- 
tirpate everything  that  is  great  and  solemn  among 
us. 

This  learned  critick  and  his  followers  were  led  in- 
to so  great  an  error  by  that  surreptitious  and  pirati- 
cal copy  which  stole  last  year  into  the  world ;  with 
what  injustice  and  prejudice  to  our  author  will 
be  acknowledged,  I  hope,  by  every  one  who  shall 
happily  peruse  this  genuine  and  original  cop}^  Nor 
can  I  help  remarking,  to  the  great  praise  of  our 
author,  that,  however  imperfect  the  former  was,  even 
that  faint  resemblance  of  the  true  Tom  Thumb 
contained  sufficient  beauties  to  give  it  a  run  of 
upwards  of  forty  nights  to  the  politest  audiences. 
But,  notwithstanding  that  applause  which  it  re- 
ceived from  all  the  best  judges,  it  was  as  severely 
censured  by  some  few  bad  ones,  and,  I  believe  rather 
maliciously  than  ignorantly,  reported  to  have  been 
intended  a  burlesque  on  the  loftiest  parts  of  tragedy, 
and  designed  to  banish  what  we  generally  call  fine 
things  from  the  stage. 

Now,  if  I  can  set  my  country  right  in  an  affair  of 
this  importance,  I  shall  lightly  esteem  any  labour 
which  it  may  cost.  And  this  I  the  rather  under- 
take, first,  as  it  is  indeed  in  some  measure  incumbent 
on  me  to  vindicate  myself  from  that  surreptitious 
copy  before  mentioned,  published  by  some  ill-mean- 

[46] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

ing  people  under  my  name  ;  secondly,  as  knowing 
myself  more  capable  of  doing  justice  to  our  author 
than  any  other  man,  as  I  have  given  myself  more 
pains  to  arrive  at  a  thorough  understanding  of  this 
little  piece,  having  for  ten  years  together  read  noth- 
ing else  ;  in  whicli  time,  I  think,  I  may  modestly 
presume,  with  the  help  of  my  English  dictionary,  to 
comprehend  all  the  meanings  of  every  word  in  it. 

But  should  any  error  of  my  pen  awaken  Clariss. 
Bentleium  to  enlighten  the  world  with  his  annota- 
tions on  our  author,  I  shall  not  think  that  the  least 
reward  or  happiness  arising  to  me  from  these  my 
endeavours. 

I  shall  waive  at  present  what  hath  caused  such 
feuds  in  the  learned  world,  whether  this  piece  was 
original!}^  written  by  Shakspeare,  though  certainly 
that,  were  it  true,  must  add  a  considerable  share  to 
its  merit,  especially  with  such  who  are  so  generous 
as  to  buy  and  commend  what  they  never  read,  from 
an  implicit  faith  in  the  author  only  :  a  faith  which 
our  ase  abounds  in  as  much  as  it  can  be  called  defi- 
cient  in  any  other. 

Let  it  suffice,  that  The  Tragedy  of  Tragedies  ; 
or.  The  Life  and  Death  of  Tom  Thumb,  was  writ- 
ten in  the  reign  of  queen  Elizabeth.     Nor  can  the 

objection   made  by   Mr.    D ,   that  the   tragedy 

must  then  have  been  antecedent  to  the  history, 
have  any  weight,  when  we  consider  that,  though  the 
History  of  Tom  Thumb,  printed  by  and  for  Edward 

M r,    at    the  Looking-glass    on  London-bridge, 

be  of  a  later  date,  still  must  we  suppose  this  history 
to  have  been  transcribed  from  some  other,  unless  we 

[  47  ] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

suppose  the  writer  thereof  to  be  inspired  :  a  gift 
very  faintly  contended  for  by  the  writers  of  our  age. 
As  to  this  history's  not  bearing  the  stamp  of  sec- 
ond, third,  or  fourth  edition,  I  see  but  httle  in  that 
objection;    editions  being  very  uncertain  lights  to 

judge  of  books  by  :  and  perhaps  Mr.  M r  may 

have  joined  twenty  editions  in  one,  as  Mr.  C 1 

hath  ere  now  divided  one  into  twenty. 

Nor  doth  the  other  argument,  drawn  from  the  lit- 
tle care  our  author  hath  taken  to  keep  up  to  the 
letter  of  this  history,  carry  any  greater  force.  Are 
there  not  instances  of  plays  wherein  the  history  is  so 
perverted,  that  we  can  know  the  heroes  whom  they 
celebrate  by  no  other  marks  than  their  names  ?  nay, 
do  we  not  find  the  same  character  placed  by  differ- 
ent poets  in  such  different  lights,  that  we  can  dis- 
cover not  the  least  sameness,  or  even  likeness,  in  the 
features  ?  The  Sophonisba  of  Mairet  and  of  Lee  is 
a  tender,  passionate,  amorous  mistress  of  Massinissa : 
Corneille  and  Mr.  Thomson  give  her  no  other  pas- 
sion but  the  love  of  her  country,  and  make  her  as  cool 
in  her  affection  to  Massinissa  as  to  Syphax.  In  the 
two  latter  she  resembles  the  character  of  queen  Eliz- 
abeth ;  in  the  two  former  she  is  the  picture  of  Mary 
queen  of  Scotland.  In  short,  the  one  Sophonisba  is 
as  different  from  the  other  as  the  Brutus  of  Voltaire 
is  from  the  Marius,  jun.,  of  Otway,  or  as  the  Mi- 
nerva is  from  the  Venus  of  the  ancients. 

Let  us  now  proceed  to  a  regular  examination  of 
the  tragedy  before  us,  in  which  I  shall  treat  sepa- 
rately of  the  Fable,  the  Moral,  the  Characters,  the 
Sentiments,  and  the  Diction.     And  first  of  the 

[48] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Fable  ;  which  I  take  to  be  the  most  simple  imagi- 
nable ;  and,  to  use  the  words  of  an  eminent  author, 
"  one,  regular,  and  uniform,  not  charged  with  a  mul- 
tiplicity of  incidents,  and  yet  affording  several  revo- 
lutions of  fortune,  by  which  the  passions  may  be 
excited,  varied,  and  driven  to  their  full  tumult  of 
emotion."  —  Nor  is  the  action  of  this  tragedy  less 
great  than  uniform.  The  spring  of  all  is  the  love  of 
Tom  Thumb  for  Huncamunca ;  which  caused  the 
quarrel  between  their  majesties  in  the  first  act ;  the 
passion  of  Lord  Grizzle  in  the  second ;  the  rebellion, 
fall  of  Lord  Grizzle  and  Glumdalca,  devouring  of 
Tom  Thumb  by  the  cow,  and  that  bloody  catastro- 
phe, in  the  third. 

Nor  is  the  Moral  of  this  excellent  tragedy  less 
noble  than  the  Fable  ;  it  teaches  these  two  instruc- 
tive lessons,  viz.,  that  human  happiness  is  exceeding 
transient ;  and  that  death  is  the  certain  end  of  all 
men  :  the  former  whereof  is  inculcated  by  the  fatal 
end  of  Tom  Thumb  ;  the  latter,  by  that  of  all  the 
other  personages. 

The  Characters  are,  I  think,  sufficiently  described 
in  the  dramatis  personag  ;  and  I  believe  we  shall  find 
few  plays  where  greater  care  is  taken  to  maintain 
them  throughout,  and  to  preserve  in  every  speech 
that  characteristical  mark  which  distinguishes  them 

from  each  other.     "  But  (says  Mr.  D )  how  well 

doth  the  character  of  Tom  Thumb,  whom  we  must 
call  the  hero  of  this  tragedy,  if  it  hath  any  hero, 
agree  with  the  precepts  of  Aristotle,  who  defineth 
'  Tragedy  to  be  the  imitation  of  a  short  but  perfect 
action,  containing  a  just  greatness  in  itself'.''  &c. 
VOL.  II.  — 4  [  "^9  ] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

What  greatness  can  be  in  a  fellow  whom  history 
relateth  to  have  been  no  higher  than  a  span  ? " 
This  gentleman  seemeth  to  think,  with  serjeant 
Kite,  that  the  greatness  of  a  man's  soul  is  in  pro- 
portion to  that  of  his  body ;  the  contrary  of  which 
is  affirmed  by  our  English  physiognomical  writers. 
Besides,  if  I  understand  Aristotle  right,  he  speaketh 
only  of  the  greatness  of  the  action,  and  not  of  the 
person. 

As  for  the  Sentiments  and  the  Diction,  which  now 
only  remain  to  be  spoken  to ;  I  thought  I  could  af- 
ford them  no  stronger  justification  than  by  produc- 
ing parallel  passages  out  of  the  best  of  our  English 
wTiters.  Whether  this  sameness  of  thought  and 
expression,  which  I  have  quoted  from  them,  pro- 
ceeded from  an  agreement  in  their  way  of  thinking, 
or  whether  they  have  borrowed  from  our  author,  I 
leave  the  reader  to  determine.  I  shall  adventure  to 
affirm  this  of  the  Sentiments  of  our  author,  that  they 
are  generally  tlie  most  familiar  which  I  have  ever 
met  with,  and  at  the  same  time  delivered  with  the 
highest  dignity  of  phrase ;  which  brings  me  to  speak 
of  his  diction.  Here  I  shall  only  beg  one  postu- 
latum,  viz..  That  the  greatest  perfection  of  the  lan- 
guage of  a  tragedy  is,  that  it  is  not  to  be  understood  ; 
which  granted  (as  I  think  it  must  be),  it  will  neces- 
sarily follow  that  the  only  way  to  avoid  this  is  by 
being  too  high  or  too  low  for  the  understanding, 
which  will  comprehend  everything  within  its  reach. 
Those  two  extremities  of  stile  Mr.  Dryden  illustrates 
by  the  familiar  image  of  two  inns,  which  I  shall  term 
the  aerial  and  the  subterrestrial. 

[50] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Horace  goes  farther,  and  shevveth  when  it  is  proper 
to  call  at  one  of  these  inns,  and  when  at  the  other  : 

Telephus  et  Peleus,  cum  pauper  et  exul  uterque, 
Projicit  ampullas  et  sesquipedalia  verba. 

That  he  approveth  of  the  sesquipedalia  verba  is 
plain  ;  for,  had  not  Telephus  and  Peleus  used  this 
sort  of  diction  in  prosperity,  they  could  not  have 
dropt  it  in  adversity.  The  aerial  inn,  therefore  (says 
Horace),  is  proper  only  to  be  frequented  by  princes 
and  other  great  men  in  the  highest  affluence  of  for- 
tune ;  the  subterrestrial  is  appointed  for  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  poorer  sort  of  people  only,  whom 
Horace  advises, 

—  dolere  sermone  pedestri. 

The  true  meaning  of  both  which  citations  is,  that 
bombast  is  the  proper  language  for  joy,  and  doggrel 
for  grief;  the  latter  of  which  is  literally  imphed  in 
the  sermo  pedestris,  as  the  former  is  in  the  sesqui- 
pedalia verba. 

(Cicero  recommendeth  the  former  of  these  :  "  Quid 
est  tam  furiosum  vel  tragicum  quam  verborum  soni- 
tus  inanis,  nulla  subjecta  sententia  neque  scientia." 
What  can  be  so  proper  for  tragedy  as  a  set  of  big 
sounding  words,  so  contrived  together  as  to  convey 
no  meaning  ?  which  I  shall  one  day  or  other  prove 
to  be  the  sublime  of  Longinus.  Ovid  declareth 
absolutely  for  the  latter  inn: 

Omne  genus  script!  gravitate  tragoedia  vincit 

Tragedy  hatli,  of  all  writings,  the  greatest  share  in 
the  bathos  ;  which  is  the  profound  of  Scriblerus. 

[51] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

I  shall  not  presume  to  determine  which  of  these 
two  stiles  be  properer  for  tragedy.     It  sufficeth,  that 
our  author   excelleth    in    both.     He   is  very  rarely 
within  sight   through  the  whole  play,  either  rising 
hio-her  than  the  eye  of  your  understanding  can  soar, 
or  sinking  lower  than  it  carcth  to  stoop.     But  here 
it  may  perhaps  be  observed  that  I  have  given  more 
frequent  instances  of  authors  who  have  imitated  him 
in  the  sublime  than  in  the  contrary.     To  which  I 
answer,  first,  Bombast  being  properly  a  redundancy 
of  genius,  instances    of  this  nature  occur  in  poets 
whose  names  do  more  honour  to  our  author  than  the 
writers  in  the  doggrel,  which  proceeds  from  a  cool, 
calm,  weighty  way  of  thinking.     Instances  whereof 
are  most  frequently  to  be  found  in  authors  of  a  lower 
class.     Secondly,  That  the  works  of  such  authors  are 
difficultly  found  at  all.     Thirdly,  That  it  is  a  very 
hard  task  to  read  them,  in  order  to  extract  these 
flowers  from  them.     And  lastly,  it  is  very  difficult  to 
transplant  them  at  all ;  they  being  like  some  flowers 
of  a  very  nice  nature,  which  will  flourish  in  no  soil 
but  their  own  :  for  it  is  easy  to  transcribe  a  thought, 
but  not  the  want  of  one.     The  Earl  of  Essex,  for 
instance,  is  a  little  garden  of  choice  rarities,  whence 
you  can  scarce  transplant  one  line  so  as  to  preserve 
its  original  beauty.     This  must  account  to  the  reader 
for  his  missing  the  names  of  several  of  his  acquaint- 
ance, which  he  had  certainly  found  here,  had  I  ever 
read  their  works ;  for    which,  if  I  have  not  a  just 
esteem,  I  can  at  least  say  with  Cicero,  "Quae  non 
contemno,  quippe  quae  nunquam  legerim."    Howevei-, 
that  the  reader  may  meet  with  due  satisfaction  in 

[52] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

this  point,  I  have  a  young  connnentatoi-  from  the 
university,  who  is  reading  over  all  the  modern  trag- 
edies, at  five  shillings  a  dozen,  and  collecting  all 
that  they  have  stole  from  our  author,  which  shall 
be  shortly  added  as  an  appendix  to  this  work. 


[53] 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 


Men. 

King  Arthur,   a    passionate    sort    of    krng.l 

husband  to  queen  DoUallolla,  of  whom  he 

stands  a  httle  in  fear  ;  father  to  Hunca-  \  Mr.  Mitllart. 

munca,  whom  he  is  very  fond  of,  and  in  I 

love  with  Gluradalca J 

Tom   Thumb  the   Great,  a   httle  hero  with  a^ 

great    soul,    something    violent    in     his  I  Young 

temper,  which  is   a   little  abated  by  his  j'      Verhuyck. 

love  for  Huncamimca j 

Ghost  of  Gaffer  llmmb,  a  whimsical   sort  of"\  ii»     y 

ghost / 

Lord  Grizzle,  extremely  zealous  for  the  liberty^ 

of  the  subject,  very  cholerick  in  his  temper  \  Mr.  Jones. 

and  in  love  with  Huncamunca      ...     J 

Merlin,  a  coniurer,  and  in    some   sort  father ~\  ,;r     tt 

i.     rr.        riV       .  \  Mr.  Hallam. 

to  lom   thumb J 

Noodle,  Doodle,  courtiers  in  place,  and  conse-)  Mr.  Reynolds, 
quently  of  that  party  that  is  uppermost     j  Mr.  Wathan. 

Foodie,  a  courtier  that  is  out  of  place,  and  con-\  -^      A^tifs 
sequently  of  that  party  that  is  vmdermost  j 

Bailiff,   and    Follower,    of   the   party   of  the  \  Mr.  Peterson, 
plaintiff j  Mr.  Hicks. 

Parson,  of  the  side  of  the  church    ....         Mr.  Watson. 

Women. 


►Mrs.  MuiXART. 


-Mrs.  Jones. 


Queen  DoUallolla,  wife   to   king  Arthur,  and' 

mother  to  Huncamunca,  a  woman  intirely 

faultless,  saving  that  she  is  a  little  given 

to  drink,  a  little  too  much  a  virago  to- 
wards   her    husband,    and    in    love  with 

Tom  Thumb j 

The  Princess  Huncamunca,  daughter  to  their  ~ 

majesties  king  Arthur  and  queen  DoUal- 
lolla, of  a  very  sweet,  gentle,  and  amorous 

disposition,    equally    in    love   with    Lord 

Grizzle   and  Tom   Thumb,  and   desirous 

to  be  married  to  them  both  .  .  .  .  , 
Glumdnlca,   of  the   giants,  a  captive  queen, ^ 

beloved   by   the   king,  but  in   love  with  \  Mrs.  Dove. 

Tom  Thumb J 

Cleora,  Mustachn,  maids   of  honour  in  love  with  Noodle  and 

Doodle.  —  Courtiers,    Guards,   Rebels,    DruTns,    Trumpets, 

Thunder  and  Lightning. 

Scene,  the  court  of  king  Arthur,  and  a  plain  thereabouts. 


ACT   I 

Scene  I.  —  TJie  Palace.     Doodle^  Noodle. 

Doodle.    Sure  such  a  ^  day  as  this  was  never  seen ! 
The  sun  himself,  on  this  auspicious  day, 
Shines  hke  a  beau  in  a  new  birth-day  suit : 
This  down  the  seams  embroidered,  that  the  beams. 
All  nature  wears  one  universal  grin. 

Nood.    This  day,  O  Mr.  Doodle,  is  a  day 

^  Corneille  recommends  some  very  remarkable  day  wherein 
to  fix  the  action  of  a  tragedy.  This  the  best  of  our  tragical 
writers  have  understood  to  mean  a  day  remarkable  for  the 
serenity  of  the  sky,  or  what  we  generally  call  a  fine  summer's 
day :  so  that,  according  to  this  their  exposition,  the  same 
months  are  proper  for  tragedy  which  ai-e  proper  for  pastoral. 
Most  of  our  celebrated  English  tragedies,  as  Cato,  Mariamne, 
Tamerlane,  &c.,  begin  with  their  observations  on  the  morning. 
Lee  seems  to  have  come  the  nearest  to  this  beautiful  description 
of  our  author's  : 

The  morning  dawns  with  an  unwonted  crimson. 
The  flowers  all  odorous  seem,  the  garden  birds 
Sing  louder,  and  the  laughing  sun  ascends 
The  gaudy  earth  with  an  unusual  brightness  : 
All  nature  smiles.  —  Gais.  Borg. 

Massinissa,  in  the  New  Sophonisba,  is  also  a  favourite  of 
the  sun  : 

The  sun  too  seems 

As  conscious  of  my  joy,  with  broader  eye 

To  look  abroad  the  world,  and  all  things  smile 

Like  Sophonisba. 

[  55  J 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Indeed  !  —  A  dav,^  we  never  saw  before. 
The  mighty '^  Thomas  Thumb  victorious  comes  ; 
ISIillions  of  giants  crowd  his  chariot  wheels, 
^  Giants  !  to  whom  the  giants  in  Guildhall 

Memnon,  in  the  Persian  Princess,  makes  the  sun  decline 
rising,  that  he  may  not  peep  on  objects  which  would  profane 
his  brightness  : 

The  morning  rises  slow. 

And  all  those  ruddy  streaks  that  used  to  paint 
The  day's  approach  are  lost  in  clouds,  as  if 
The  horrors  of  the  night  had  sent  'em  back. 
To  warn  the  sun  he  should  not  leave  the  sea, 
To  peep,  &c. 

1  This  line  is  highly  conformable  to  the  beautiful  simplicity 
of  the  antients.     It  hath  been  copied  by  almost  every  modern. 

Not  to  be  is  not  to  be  in  woe.  —  State  of  Innocence. 

Love  is  not  sin  but  where  't  is  sinful  love.  —  Don  Sebastian. 

Nature  is  nature,  LaeUus.  —  Sophonisba. 

Men  are  but  men,  we  did  not  make  ourselves.  —  Revenge. 

2  Dr.  B— y  reads.  The  mighty  Tall-mast  Thumb.  Mr.  D— s. 
The  mighty  Thumbing  Thumb.     Mr.  T — d  reads.  Thundering. 

I   think  Thomas  more   agreeable   to   the  great  simplicity  so  ' 
apparent  in  our  author. 

2  That  learned  historian  Mr.  S — n,  in  the  third  number  of  his 
criticism  on  our  author,  takes  great  pains  to  explode  this  pas- 
sage. "It  is,"  says  he,  "  difficult  to  guess  what  giants  are 
here  meant,  unless  the  giant  Despair  in  the  Pilgrim's  Progress, 
or  the  giant  Greatness  in  the  Royal  Villain  ;  for  I  have  heard 
of  no  other  sort  of  giants  in  the  reign  of  King  Arthur. "  Petrus 
Burmannus  makes  three  Tom  Thumbs,  one  whereof  he  sup- 
poses to  have  been  the  same  person  whom  the  Greeks  called 
Hercules  ;  and  that  by  these  giants  are  to  be  understood  the 
Centaurs  slain  by  that  hero.  Another  Tom  Thumb  he  con- 
tends to  have  been  no  other  than  the  Hermes  Trismegistus  of 
the  antients.  The  third  Tom  Thumb  he  places  under  the  reign 
of  king  Arthur ;  to  which  third  Tom  Thumb,  says  he,  the 

[56] 


'  TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Are  infant  dwarfs.    They  frown,  and  foam,  and  roar, 
Wliile  Thumb,  regardless  of  their  noise,  rides  on. 
So  some  cock-sparrow  in  a  farmer's  yard, 
Hops  at  the  head  of  an  huge  flock  cf  turkeys, 

Dood.    When    Goody   Thumb   first   brought  this 
Thomas  forth, 
The  Genius  of  our  land  triumphant  reign'd  ; 
Then,  then,  O  Arthur  !  did  thy  Genius  reign. 

Nood.    They  tell  me  it  is  ^  whisper'd  in  the  books 

actions  of  the  other  two  were  attributed.  Now,  though  I  know 
that  this  opinion  is  supported  by  an  assertion  of  Justus  Lipsius, 
'*  Thomam  ilium  Thumbum  non  alium  qukm  Herculem  fuisse 
satis  constat,"  yet  shall  I  venture  to  oppose  one  line  of  Mr. 
Midwinter  against  them  all : 

In  Arthur's  court  Tom  Thumb  did  live. 

"  But  then,"  says  Dr.  B— y,  "  if  we  place  Tom  Thumb  in  the 
court  of  king  Arthur,  it  will  be  proper  to  place  that  court  out  of 
Britain,  where  no  giants  were  ever  heard  of"  Spenser,  in  his 
Fairy  Queen,  is  of  another  opinion,  where,  describing  Albion, 
he  says, 

Far  within  a  savage  nation  dwelt 

Of  hideous  giants. 

And  in  the  same  canto  : 

Then  Elfar,  with  two  brethren  giants  had. 

The  one  of  which  had  two  heads 

The  other  three. 
Risum  teneatis,  amici. 

1  "To  whisper  in  books,"  says  Mr.  D— s,  "is  arrant  non- 
sense." I  am  afraid  this  learned  man  does  not  sufficiently 
understand  the  extensive  meaning  of  the  word  whisper.  If  he 
had  rightly  understood  what  is  meant'by  the  "  senses  whisp'ring 
the  soul,"  in  the  Persian  Princess,  or  what  "  whisp'ring  like 
winds  "  is  in  Aurengzebe,  or  like  thunder  in  another  author,  he 
would  have  understood  this.      Emraeline   in   Dryden  sees  a 

[57] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Of  all  our  sages,  that  this  mighty  hero, 
By  Merlin's  ai-t  begot,  hath  not  a  bone 
Within  his  skin,  but  is  a  lump  of  gristle. 

Dood.    Then  'tis  a  gristle  of  no  mortal  kind; 
Some  God,  my  Noodle,  stept  into  the  place 
Of  Gaffer  Thumb,  and  more  than  ^  half  begot 
This  mighty  Tom. 

Nood.    —  2  Sure  he  was  sent  express 
From  Heaven  to  be  the  pillar  of  our  state. 
Though  small  his  body  be,  so  very  small 
A  chairman's  leg  is  more  than  twice  as  large, 
Yet  is  his  soul  like  any  mountain  big ; 
And  as  a  mountain  once  brought  forth  a  mouse, 
^  So  doth  this  mouse  contain  a  mighty  mountain. 

voice,  but  she  was  born  blind,  which  is  an  excuse  Panthea  can- 
not plead  in  Cyrus,  who  hears  a  sight : 

Your  description  will  surpass 

All  fiction,  painting,  or  dumb  shew  of  horror. 
That  ever  ears  yet  heard,  or  eyes  beheld. 

When  Mr.  D — s  understands  these,  he  will  understand  whisper- 
ing in  books. 

^  —  Some  ruiBan  stept  into  his  father's  place. 
And  more  than  half  begot  him.  —  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

'  —  For  Ulamar  seems  sent  express  from  Heaven, 
To  civilize  this  rugged  Indian  clime.  —  Liberty  Asserted. 

*  "  Omne  majus  continet  in  se  minus,  sed  minus  non  in  se 
majus  continere  potest,"  says  Scaliger  in  Thumbo.  I  suppose  he 
would  have  cavilled  at  these  beautiful  lines  in  the  Earl  of  Essex  : 

Thy  most  inveterate  soul. 

That  looks  through  the  foul  prison  of  thy  body. 

And  at  those  of  Dryden  : 

The  palace  is  without  too  well  design'd  ; 
Conduct  me  in,  for  I  will  view  thy  mind.  — Aurengzehe. 

[58] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Dood.    Mountain  indeed  !     So  terrible  his  namo. 
^  The  giant  nurses  frighten  children  with  it, 
And  cry  Tom  Thumb  is  come,  and  if  you  are 
Naughty,  will  surely  take  the  child  away, 

Nood.  But  hark  !  ^  these  trumpets  speak  the  king's 

approach. 
Dood.    He  comes  most  luckily  for  my  petition. 

\_Flourish. 


Scene  II.  —  King,  Queen,  Grizzle,  Noodle,  Doodle, 

FOODLE. 

King.    ^  Let  nothing  but  a  face  of  joy  appear  ; 
The     man     who    frowns     this   day    shall    lose    his 

head, 
That  he  may  have  no  face  to  frown  withal. 
Smile  Dollallolla  —  Ha  !  what  wrinkled  sorrow 

1  Mr.  Banks  hath  copied  this  almost  verbatim  : 

It  was  enough  to  say,  here  's  Essex  come, 
And  nurses  stilFd  their  children  with  the  fright 

—  Earl  of  Essex. 

2  The  trumpet  in  a  tragedy  is  generally  as  much  as  to  say. 
Enter  king,  which  makes  Mr.  Banks,  in  one  of  his  plays,  call  it 
the  trumpet's  formal  sound. 

^  Phraortcs,  in  the  Captives,  seems  to  have  been  acquainted 
with  King  Arthur : 

Proclaim  a  festival  for  seven  days'  space. 

Let  the  court  shine  in  all  its  pomp  and  lustre. 

Let  all  our  streets  resound  with  shouts  of  joy  ; 

Let  musick's  care-dispelling  voice  be  heard  ; 

The  sumptuous  banquet  and  the  flowing  goblet 

Shall  warm  the  cheek  and  fill  the  heart  with  gladness. 

Astarbe  shall  sit  mistress  of  the  feast. 

[59i 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

^  Hangs,  sits,  lies,  frowns  upon  thy  knitted  brow  ? 
Whence    flow  those  tears  fast  down  thy  blubber''d 

cheeks, 
Like  a  swoln  gutter,  gushing  through  the  streets  ? 
Queen.   ^  Excess  of  joy,  my  lord,  I  've  heard  folks 

say. 
Gives  tears  as  certain  as  excess  of  grief. 

King.    If  it  be  so,  let  all  men  cry  for  joy, 
^  Till  my  whole  court  be  drowned  with  their  tears ; 

*  Repentance  frowns  on  thy  contracted  brow.  —  Sophonisba. 
Hung  on  his  clouded  brow,  I  mark'd  despair.  —  Ibid. 

A  sullen  gloom 


Scowls  on  his  brow.  —  Brisiris. 
2  Plato  is  of  this  opinion,  and  so  is  Mr.  Banks  : 

Behold  these  tears  sprung  from  fresh  pain  and  joy. 

—  Earl  of  Essex. 

*  These  floods  are  very  frequent  in  the  tragick  authors  : 

Near  to  some  murmuring  brook  I  '11  lay  me  down, 
Whose  waters,  if  they  should  too  shallow  flow. 
My  tears  shall  swell  them  up  till  I  will  drown. 

—  Lee's  Sophonisba, 

Pouring  forth  tears  at  such  a  lavish  rate. 

That  were  the  world  on  fire  they  might  have  drown'd 

The  wrath  of  heaven,  and  quench 'd  the  mighty  ruin. 

—  Mithridates 

One  author  changes  the  waters  of  grief  to  those  of  joy  : 

These  tears,  that  sprung  from  tides  of  grief. 

Are  now  augmented  to  a  flood  of  joy.  —  Cyrus  the  Oreat. 

Another  : 

Turns  all  the  streams  of  heat,  and  makes  them  flow 
In  pity's  channel.  —  Royal  Villain. 

[60] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Nay,  till  they  overflow  my  utmost  land, 
And  leave  me  nothing  but  the  sea  to  rule. 

Dood.    My  liege,  I  a  petition  have  here  got. 

King.    Petition  me  no  petitions,  sir,  to-day  : 
Let  other  hours  be  set  apart  for  business. 
To-day  it  is  our  pleasure  to  be  ^  drunk. 
And  this  our  queen  shall  be  as  drunk  as  we. 

One  drowns  himself : 

Pity  like  a  torrent  pours  me  down, 


Now  I  am  drowning  all  within  a  deluge.  —  Anna  Bullen. 

Cyrus  drowns  the  whole  world  : 

Our  swelling  grief 

Shall  melt  into  a  deluge,  and  the  world 

Shall  drown  in  tears.  —  Cyrus  the  Great. 

1  An  expression  vastly  beneath  the  dignity  of  tragedy,  says 
Mr.  D— s,  yet  we  find  the  word  he  cavils  at  in  the  mouth  of 
Mithridates  less  properly  used,  and  applied  to  a  more  terrible 
idea  : 

I  would  be  drunk  with  death.  —  Mithridates. 

The  author  of  the  New  Sophonisba  taketh  hold  of  this  mono- 
syllable, and  uses  it  pretty  much  to  the  same  purpose  : 

The  Carthaginian  sword  with  Roman  blood 
Was  drunk. 

I  would  ask  Mr.  D— s  which  gives  him  the  best  idea,  a  dnmken 
king,  or  a  drunken  sword  ? 

Mr.  Tate  dresses  up  King  Arthur's  resolution  in  heroick  : 

Merry,  my  lord,  o'  th'  captain's  humour  right, 
I  am  resolved  to  be  dead  drunk  to-night 

Lee  also  uses  this  charming  word  : 

Love  's  the  drunkenness  of  the  mind.  —  Gloriana, 

[61] 


THE     LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Queen.    (Though  I  aheady  ^  half  seas  over  am) 
If  the  capacious  goblet  overflow 

With  arrack  punch Tore  George !    I  '11  see  it  out : 

Of  rum  and  brandy  1 11  not  taste  a  drop. 

King.    Though  rack,  in  punch,  eight  shillings  be  a 
quart, 
And  rum  and  brandy  be  no  more  than  six, 
Rather  than  quarrel  you  shall  have  your  will. 

[  Trumpets. 
But,  ha  !  the  warrior  comes  —  the  great  Tom  Thumb, 
The  little  hero,  giant-killing  boy. 
Preserver  of  my  kingdom,  is  arrived. 

Scene  III.  — Tom  Thumb  to  them,  with  Officers,  Pris- 
oners, a9id  Attendants. 

King.   2  Oh !  welcome  most,  most  welcome  to  my 
arms. 
What  gratitude  can  thank  away  the  debt 
Your  valour  lays  upon  me  ? 

Queen. ®  Oh  !  ye  gods !  [J  side. 

Thumb.    When  I  'm  not  thank'd  at  all,  I  'm  thank'd 
enough. 
^ I \e  done  my  duty,  and  I  Ve  done  no  more, 

1  Dryden  hath  borrowed  this,  and  applied  it  improperly  : 

I  'm  half  seas  o'er  in  death.  —  Cleomenes. 

2  This  figure  is  in  great  use  among  the  tragedians  : 

'T  is  therefore,  therefore  't  is.  —  Victim. 
I  long,  repent,  repent,  and  long  again.  —  Btisiris. 

3  A  tragical  exclamation. 

*  This  line  is  copied  verbatim  in  the  Captives. 

[62] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Queen.   Was  ever  such  a  godlike  creature  seen  ? 

[Aside. 

King.    Thy  modesty  "'s  a  ^  candle  to  thy  merit, 
It  shines  itself,  and  shews  thy  merit  too. 
But  say,  my  boy,  where  didst  thou  leave  the  giants  ? 

Thumb.    My  liege,  without  the  castle  gates  they 
stand, 
The  castle  gates  too  low  for  their  admittance. 

King.    What  look  they  like  ? 

Tlnnnh.    Like  nothing  but  themselves. 

Queen.    ^  And  sure  thou  art  like  nothing  but  thy- 
self. [Aside. 

King.    Enough  !  the  vast  idea  fills  my  soul. 
I  see  them  —  yes,  I  see  them  now  before  me ; 
The  monstrous,  ugly,  barbarous  sons  of  \vhores. 
But  ha !  what  form  majestick  strikes  our  eyes  ? 
^  So  perfect,  that  it  seems  to  have  been  drawn 

1  We  find  a  candlestick  for  this  candle  in  two  celebrated 
authors : 

Each  star  withdraws 

His  golden  head,  and  burns  within  the  socket.  —  Nero. 

A  soul  grown  old  and  sunk  into  the  socket.  —  Sebastian. 

*  This  simile  occurs  very  frequently  among  the  dramatic 
writers  of  both  kinds. 

8  Mr.  Lee  hath  stolen  this  thought  from  our  author  : 

This  perfect  face,  drawn  by  the  gods  in  council, 
Which  they  were  long  a  making.  —  Luc.  Jun.  Brut. 

At  his  birth  the  heavenly  council  paused, 


And  then  at  last  cry'd  out.  This  is  a  man  ! 

Dryden  hath  improved  this  hint  to  the  utmost  perfection  : 

So  perfect,  that  the  very  gods  who  form'd  you  wonder'd 
At  their  own  skill,  and  cry'd,  A  lucky  hit 

[63] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

By  all  the  gods  in  council :  so  fair  she  is, 
That  surely  at  her  birth  the  council  paused, 
And  then  at  length  cry'd  out,  This  is  a  woman  ! 

Thumb.    Then  were    the  gods  mistaken  —  she  is 
not 

A  woman,  but  a  giantess whom  we, 

^  With  much  ado,  have  made  a  shift  to  hawl 
Within  the  town  :  ^  for  she  is  by  a  foot 
Shorter  than  all  her  subject  giants  were. 

Glum.    We  yesterday  were  both  a  queen  and  wife. 
One  hundred  thousand  giants  own''d  our  sway. 
Twenty  whereof  were  married  to  ourself 

Queen.     Oh  !    happy    state    of    giantism    where 
husbands 
Like  mushrooms  grow,  whilst  hapless  we  are  forced 
To  be  content,  nay,  happy  thought,  with  one. 

Has  mended  our  design  !    Their  envy  hindered, 
Or  you  had  been  immortal,  and  a  pattern. 
When  Heaven  would  work  for  ostentation  sake. 
To  copy  out  again.  — All  for  Love. 

Banks  prefers  the  works  of  Michael  Angelo  to  that  of  the  gods  : 

A  pattern  for  the  gods  to  make  a  man  by, 
Or  Michael  Angelo  to  form  a  statue. 

1  It  is  impossible,  says  Mr.  W ,  sufficiently  to  admire 

this  natural  easy  line. 

2  This  tragedy,  which  in  most  points  resembles  the  ancients, 
differs  from  them  in  this  —  that  it  assigns  the  same  honour  to 
lowness  of  stature  which  they  did  to  height.  The  gods  and 
heroes  in  Homer  and  Virgil  are  continually  described  higher 
by  the  head  than  their  followers,  the  contrary  of  which  is  ob- 
served by  our  author.  In  short,  to  exceed  on  either  side  is 
equally  admirable  ;  and  a  man  of  three  foot  is  as  wonderful  a 
sight  as  a  man  of  nine. 

[64] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Glum.    But  then  to  lose  them  all  in  one  black  day, 
That  the  same  sun  which,  rising,  saw  me  wife 
To  twenty  giants,  setting  should  behold 

Me  widow'd  of  them  all. ^  My  worn-out  heart, 

That  ship,  leaks  fast,  and  the  great  heavy  lading, 
My  soul,  will  quickly  sink. 

Queen.  Madam,  believe 

I  view  your  sorrows  with  a  woman's  eye  : 
But  learn  to  bear  them  with  what  strength  you  may, 
To-morrow  we  will  have  our  grenadiers 
Drawn  out  before  you,  and  you  then  shall  choose 
What  husbands  you  think  fit. 

Glum.  2  Madam,  I  am 

Your  most  obedient  and  most  humble  servant. 

King.    Think,  mighty   princess,  think  this  court 
your  own, 
Nor  think  the  landlord  me,  this  house  my  inn  ; 
Call  for  whatever  you  will,  you  ""ll  nothing  pay. 
^  I  feel  a  sudden  pain  within  my  breast. 
Nor  know  I  whether  it  arise  from  love 

1  My  blood  leaks  fast,  and  the  great  heavy  lading 
My  soul  will  quickly  sink.  —  Mithridates. 

My  soul  is  like  a  ship.  —  Injured  Love. 

2  This  well-bred  line  seems  to  be  copied  in  the  Persian 
Princess  :  — 

To  be  your  humblest  and  most  faithful  slave. 

8  This  doubt  of  the  king  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  passage  in  the 
Captives,  where  the  noise  of  feet  is  mistaken  for  the  rustling  of 
leaves. 

Methinks  I  hear 

The  sound  of  feet : 

No  ;  't  was  the  wind  that  shook  yon  cypress  boughs. 

VOL.  II  — 5  [  65  ] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Or  only  the  wind-cholick.     Time  must  shew. 

0  Thumb  !   what  do  we  to  thy  valour  owe  ! 
Ask  some  reward,  great  as  we  can  bestow. 

Thumb.    ^  I  ask  not  kingdoms,  I  can  conquer  those; 

1  ask  not  money,  money  I  've  enough  ; 

For  what  I  've  done,  and  what  I  mean  to  do, 
For  giants  slain,  and  giants  yet  unborn. 

Which  I  will  slay if  this  be  called  a  debt, 

Take  my  receipt  in  full :  I  ask  but  this,  — 
^  To  sun  myself  in  Huncamunca's  eyes. 

King.    Prodigious  bold  request.     >  r  ^  -^ 

Queen.    ^  Be  still,  my  soul.     S  ^ 

Thumb.    *  My   heart  is  at  the  threshold  of  your 
mouth, 

1  Mr.  Dryden  seems  to  have  had  this  passage  in  his  eye  in 
the  first  page  of  Love  Triumphant. 

-  Don  Carlos,  in  the  Revenge,  suns  himself  in  the  charms  of 
his  mistress  : 

While  in  the  lustre  of  her  charms  I  lay. 

*  A  tragical  phrase  much  in  use. 

*  This  speech  hath  been  taken  to  pieces  by  several  tragi- 
cal authors,  who  seem  to  have  rifled  it,  and  shared  its  beauties 
among  them. 

My  soul  waits  at  the  portal  of  thy  breast, 

To  ravish  from  thy  lips  the  welcome  news.  — Anna  BulUn. 

My  soul  stands  list'ning  at  my  ears.  —  Cyrus  the  Great. 

Love  to  his  tune  my  jarring  heart  would  bring. 

But  reason  overwinds,  and  cracks  the  string.  —  D.  of  Guise. 

I  should  have  loved. 

Though  Jove,  in  muttering  thunder,  had  forbid  it. 

—  New  Sophonisba. 

And  when  it  (my  heart)  wild  resolves  to  love  no  more. 
Then  is  the  triumph  of  excessive  love.  —  Ibid. 

[66] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

And  waits  its  answer  there. Oh  !  do  not  frown. 

I  \'e  try'd  to  reason's  tune  to  tune  )ny  soul, 
But  love  did  overwind  and  crack  the  string. 
Thouffh  Jove  in  thunder  had  crv'd  out,  you  shan't, 

I  should  have  loved  her  still for  oh,  strange  fate, 

Then  when  I  loved  her  least  I  loved  her  most ! 

King.    It  is  resolv'd  —  the  princess  is  your  own. 

Thumb.    Oh !     ^  happy,     happy,    happy,     happy 
Thumb. 

Queen.    Consider,  sir  ;  reward  your  soldier's  merit. 
But  give  not  Huncamunca  to  Tom  Thumb. 

King.    Tom  Thumb  !  Odzooks  !  my  wide-extended 
realm. 
Knows  not  a  name  so  glorious  as  Tom  Thumb. 
Let  Macedonia  Alexander  boast. 
Let  Rome  her  Caesars  and  her  Scipios  show, 
Her  Messieurs  France,  let  Holland  boast  Mynheers, 
Ireland  her  O's,  her  Macs  let  Scotland  boast. 
Let  England  boast  no  other  than  Tom  Thumb. 

Queen.    Though  greater  yet  his  boasted  merit  was. 
He  shall  not  have  my  daughter,  that  is  pos'. 

King.    Ha  !  sayst  thou,  Dollallolla  ? 

Queen.  1  say  he  shan't. 

King.    2  Then  by  our  royal  self  we  swear  you  lie. 

Queen.   ^  Who  but  a  dog,  who  but  a  dog 

1  Massinissa  is  one-fourth  less  happy  than  Tom  Thumb. 
Oh  !  happy,  happy,  happy  !  —  New  Sophonisba. 

*  No  by  myself.  —  Anna  Bullen, 

*  Who  caused 

This  dreadful  revolution  in  my  fate. 

Ulamar.     Who  but  a  dog  —  who  but  a  dog  ?  —  Liberty  As, 

[67] 


THE    LIPE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Would  use  me  as  thou  dost  ?     Me,  who  have  lain 
1  These  twenty  years  so  loving  by  thy  side ! 
But  I  will  be  revenged.     I  '11  hang  myself. 
Then  tremble  all  who  did  this  match  persuade, 
^  For,  riding  on  a  cat,  from  high  1 11  fall, 
And  squirt  down  royal  vengeance  on  you  all. 

Food.    ^  Her  majesty  the  queen  is  in  a  passion. 

King.    ^  Be  she,  or  be  she  not,  I  '11  to  the  girl 
And  pave  thy  way,  oh  Thumb —  Now  by  ourself, 
We  were  indeed  a  pretty  king  of  clouts 

To  truckle  to  her  will For  when  by  force 

Or  art  the  wife  her  husband  over-reaches. 
Give  him  the  petticoat,  and  her  the  breeches. 

Thumb.    ^  Whisper  ye  winds,  that  Huncamunca's 
mine  ! 
Echoes  repeat,  that  Huncamunca's  mine  ! 
The  dreadful  business  of  the  war  is  o'er, 
And  beauty,  heav'nly  beauty  !  crowns  my  toils  ! 
I  \e  thrown  the  bloody  garment  now  aside 


A  bride, 


Who  twenty  years  lay  loving  by  your  side.  —Banks. 

2  For,  borne  upon  a  cloud,  from  high  I  '11  fall, 
And  rain  down  royal  vengeance  on  you  all.  — Alb.  Queens. 

8  An  information  very  like  this  we  have  in  the  tragedy  of 
Love,  where,  Cyrus  having  stormed  in  the  most  violent  manner, 
Cyaxares  observes  very  calmly. 

Why,  nephew  Cyrus,  you  are  moved. 

*  'T  is  in  your  choice. 
Love  me,  or  love  me  not.  —  Conquest  of  Granada. 

5  There  is  not  one  beauty  in  this  charming  speech  but  what 
hath  been  borrow'd  by  almost  e\cry  tragick  writer. 

[68] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

And  hymeneal  sweets  invite  my  bride. 

So  when  some  chimney-sweeper  all  the  day 
Hath  through  dark  paths  pursued  the  sooty  way. 
At  night  to  wash  his  hands  and  face  he  flies, 
And  in  his  V  other  shirt  with  his  Brickdusta  lies. 

Scene  IV. 

Grizzle  (solus.)    ^  Where  art  thou,  Grizzle  ?  where 
are  now  thy  glories  ? 
Where  are  the  drums  that  waken  thee  to  honour  ? 
Greatness  is  a  laced  coat  from  Monmouth -street, 
Which  fortune  lends  us  for  a  day  to  wear, 
To-morrow  puts  it  on  another's  back. 
The  spiteful  sun  but  yesterday  surveyed 
His  rival  high  as  Saint  Paul's  cupola ; 
Now  may  he  see  me  as  Fleet-ditch  laid  low. 

Scene  V.  —  Queen,  Grizzle. 

Queen.    ^  Teach    me    to    scold,  prodigious-minded 
Grizzle, 
Mountain  of  treason,  ugly  as  the  devil. 
Teach  this  confounded  hateful  mouth  of  mine 
To  spout  forth  words  malicious  as  thyself. 
Words  which  might  shame  all  Billingsgate  to  speak. 

Griz.    Far  be  it  from  my  pride  to  think  my  tongue 

1  Mr.  Banks  has  (I  wish  I  could  not  say  too  servilely)  imi- 
tated this  of  Grizzle  in  his  Earl  of  Essex  : 

Where  art  thou,  Essex,  &c. 

2  The  countess  of  Nottinfrham,  in  the  Earl  of  Essex,  is  appar- 
ently acquainted  with  Doll;i Holla. 

[69] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Your  royal  lips  can  in  that  art  instruct, 
Wherein  you  so  excel.     But  may  I  ask, 
AVithout  offence,  wherefore  my  queen  would  scold  ? 
Queen.    Wherefore?      Oh!    blood   and    thunder! 
han't  you   heard 
(What  every  corner  of  the  court  resounds) 
That  little  Thumb  will  be  a  great  man  made  ? 
Griz.    I  heard  it,  I  confess  —  for  who,  alas  ! 
1  Can  always  stop  his  ears  ?  —  But  would  my  teeth, 
By  grinding  knives,  had  first  been  set  on  edge  ! 
'  Queen.    Would  I  had  heard,  at  the  still  noon  of 
night. 
The  hallalloo  of  fire  in  every  street ! 
Odsbobs !  I  have  a  mind  to  hang  myself, 
To  think  I  should  a  gi-andmother  be  made 
By  such  a  rascal !  —  Sure  the  king  forgets 
When  in  a  pudding,  by  his  mother  put, 
The  bastard,  by  a  tinker,  on  a  stile 
Was  dropp  d.  —  O,  good  lord  Grizzle  !  can  I  bear 
To  see  him  from  a  pudding  mount  the  throne? 
Or  can,  oh  can,  my  Huncamunca  bear 
To  take  a  pudding^s  offspring  to  her  arms  ? 

Griz.     Oh   horror !    horror !    horror !    cease,    my 

queen, 
2  Thy    voice,  like  twenty    screech-owls,    wracks    my 

brain. 

1  Grizzle  was  not  probably  possessed  of  that  glew  of  which 
Mr.  Banks  speaks  in  his  Cyrus. 

I  '11  glew  ray  ears  to  every  word. 

2  Screech-owls,  dark  ravens,  and  amphibious  monsters. 
Are  screaming  in  that  voice.  -  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

[70] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Queen.    Then  rouse  thy  spirit  —  we  may  yet  pre- 
vent this  hated  match. 

Griz.    We  will  ^ ;  nor  fate  itself, 

Should    it    conspire    with    Thomas    Thumb,    should 

cause   it. 
I  '11  swim  through  seas  ;  I  '11  ride  upon  the  clouds  ; 
I  ""ll  dig  the  earth  ;  1 11  blow  out  every  fire  ; 
I  "11  rave  ;  I  '11  rant ;  1 11  rise  ;  1 11  rush  ;  1 11  roar  ; 
Fierce  as  the  man  whom  ^  smiling  dolphins  bore 
From  the  prosaick  to  poetick  shore. 
1 11  tear  the  scoundrel  into  twenty  pieces. 

Queen.    Oh,  no  !  prevent  the  match,  but  hurt  him 
not ; 
For,    though    I    would    not    have    him    have    my 

daughter, 
Yet  can  we  kill  the  man  that  kilPd  the  giants  ? 

Griz.    I  tell  you,  madam,  it  was  all  a  trick ; 
He    made    the    giants    first,    and     then    he     kilFd 

them  ; 
As  fox-hunters  bring  foxes  to  the  wood. 
And  then  with  hounds  thev  drive  them  out  again. 
Queen.  How  !  have  you  seen  no  giants  ?     Are  there 
not 
Now,  in  the  yard,  ten  thousand  proper  giants  ? 

1  The  reader  may  see  all  the  beauties  of  this  speech  in  a  late 
ode  called  the  Naval  Lyrick. 

^  This  epithet  to  a  dolphin  doth  not  give  one  so  clear  an  idea 
as  were  to  be  wished  ;  a  smiling  fish  seeming  a  little  more  diffi- 
cult to  be  imagined  than  a  flying  fish.  Mr.  Dryden  is  of  opinion 
that  smiling  is  the  property  of  reason,  and  that  no  irrational 
creature  can  smile  : 

Smiles  not  allow'd  to  beasts  from  reason  move. 

—  State  of  Innocence. 

[71] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Griz.    ^  Indeed  I  cannot  positively  tell, 
But  firmly  do  believe  there  is  not  one. 

Qiieen.    Hence  !  from  my  sight !    thou  traitor,  hie 
away ; 
By  all  my  stars  !   thou  enviest  Tom  Thumb. 

Go,  sirrah  !  go,^  hie  away  !  hie  ! thou  art 

A  setting  dog:  be  gone. 

Grk'.  Madam,  I  go. 

Tom  Thumb  shall  feel  the  vengeance  you  have  raised. 
So,  when  two  dogs  are  fighting  in  the  streets. 
With  a  third  dog  one  of  the  two  dogs  meets, 
With  angrv  teeth  he  bites  him  to  the  bone. 
And  this  dog  smarts  for  what  that  dog  has  done. 

1  These  lines  are  written  in  the  same  key  with  those  in  the 
Earl  of  Essex : 

Why,  say'st  thou  so  ?  I  love  thee  well,  indeed 
I  do,  and  thou  shalt  find  by  this  't  is  true. 

Or  with  this  in  Cyrus  : 

The  most  heroick  mind  that  ever  was. 
And  with  above  half  of  the  modern  tragedies, 

2  Aristotle,  in  that  excellent  work  of  his  which  is  very  justly 
stiled  his  masterpiece,  earnestly  recommends  using  the  terms 
of  art,  however  coarse  or  even  indecent  they  may  be.  Mr.  Tate 
is  of  the  same  opinion. 

Bru.    Do  not,  like  young  hawks,  fetch  a  course  about, 
Your  game  flies  fair. 

Fra.    Do  not  fear  it. 

He  answers  you  in  your  own  hawking  phrase. 

—  Injured  Love. 

I  think  these  two  great  authorities  are  sufficient  to  justify  Dol- 
lallolla  in  the  use  of  the  phrase,  "  Hie  away,  hie  !  "  when  in  the 
same  line  she  says  she  is  speaking  to  a  setting-dog. 

[72] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 


Scene  VI. 

Queen  (sola).   And  whither  shall  I  go  ?  — Alack  a 
day! 
I  love  Tom  Thumb  —  but  must  not  tell  him  so  ; 
For  what 's  a  woman  when  her  virtue 's  gone  ? 
A  coat  without  its  lace ;  wig  out  of  buckle  ; 

A  stocking  with  a  hole  in 't I  can't  live 

Without  my  virtue,  or  without  Tom  Thumb. 
^  Then  let  me  weigh  them  in  two  equal  scales ; 
In  this  scale  put  my  virtue,  that  Tom  Thumb. 
Alas !  Tom  Thumb  is  heavier  than  my  virtue. 
But  hold !  —  perhaps  I  may  be  left  a  widow  : 
This  match  prevented,  then  Tom  Tliumb  is  mine ; 
In  that  dear  hope  I  will  forget  my  pain. 

So,  when  some  wench  to  Tothill  Bridewell's  sent 
With  beating  hemp  and  flogging  she 's  content ; 
She  hopes  in  time  to  ease  her  present  pain. 
At  length  is  free,  and  walks  the  streets  again. 

1  We  meet  with  such  another  pair  of  scales  in  Dry  den's  King 
Arthur  : 

Arthur  and  Oswald,  and  their  different  fates, 
Are  weighing  now  within  the  scales  of  heaven. 

Also  in  Sebastian  : 

This  hour  my  lot  is  weighing  in  the  scales. 


[73] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 


ACT  IT. 

Scene  I.  —  The  street.     Bailiff,  Follower. 

1  Bail.    Come  on,  my  trusty  follower,  come  on  ; 
This  day  discharge  thy  duty,  and  at  night 
A  double  mug  of  beer,  and  beer  shall  glad  thee. 
Stand  here  by  me,  this  way  must  Noodle  pass. 

Fol.    No  more,  no  more,  oh  Bailiff!  every  word 
Inspires  my  soul  with  virtue.     Oh  !  I  long 
To  meet  the  enemy  in  the  street  —  and  nab  him  : 
To  lay  arresting  hands  upon  his  back, 
And  drag  him  trembling  to  the  spunging-house. 

Bail.    There  when  I  have  him,  I  will  spunge  upon 
him. 
Oh  !  glorious  thought !  by  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars, 
I  will  enjoy  it,  though  it  be  in  thought ! 
Yes,  yes,  my  follower,  I  will  enjoy  it, 

Fol.    Enjoy  it  then  some  other  time,  for  now 
Om-  prey  approaches. 

Bail.  Let  us  retire. 

Scene  II.  —  Tom  Thumb,  Noodle,  Bailiff,   Follower. 

Thumb.  Trust  me,  my  Noodle,  I  am  wondrous  sick; 
For,  though  I  love  the  gentle  Huncamunca, 

1  Mr.  Rowe  is  generally  imagined  to  have  taken  some  hints 
from  this  scene  in  his  character  of  Bajazet ;  but  as  he,  of  all 
the  tragick  writers,  bears  the  least  resemblance  to  our  author  in 
his  diction,  I  am  unwilling  to  imagine  he  would  condescend  to 
copy  him  in  this  particular. 

[74] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Yet  at  the  thought  of  niairiage  I  grow  pale : 
For,  oh  !  —  ^  but  swear  thou  It  keep  it  ever  secret, 
I  will  unfold  a  tale  will  make  thee  stare. 

Nood.    I  swear  by  lovely  Huncamunca's  charms. 

Thumb.    Then    know  —  ^  my  grandmamma  hath 
often  said, 
Tom  Thumb,  beware  of  marriage. 

Nood.  Sir,  I  blush 

To  think  a  warrior,  great  in  arms  as  you. 
Should  be  affrighted  by  his  grandmannna. 
Can  an  old  woman's  empty  dreams  deter 
The  blooming  hero  from  the  virgin's  arms  ? 
Think  of  the  joy  that  will  your  soul  alarm, 
When  in  her  fond  embraces  clasp'd  you  lie. 
While  on  her  panting  breast,  dissolved  in  bliss. 
You  pour  out  all  Tom  Thumb  in  every  kiss. 

Thumb.    Oh !  Noodle,  thou  hast  fired  my  eager  soul ; 
Spite  of  my  grandmother  she  shall  be  mine ; 
I  '11  hug,  caress,  I  '11  eat  her  up  with  love  : 
Whole  days,  and  nights,  and  years  shall  be  too  short 
For  our  enjoyment ;  every  sun  shall  rise 
^  Blushing  to  see  us  in  our  bed  together. 

1  This  method  of  surprizing  an  audience,  by  raising  their  ex- 
pectation to  the  highest  pitch,  and  then  baulking  it,  hath  been 
practised  with  great  success  by  most  of  our  tragical  authors. 

■■^  Almeyda,  in  Sebastian,  is  in  the  same  distress  : 

Sometimes  methinks  I  hear  the  groan  of  ghosts. 
Thin  hollow  sounds  and  lamentable  screams  ; 
Then,  like  a  dying  echo  from  afar. 
My  mother's  voice  that  cries.  Wed  not,  Almeyda  ; 
Forewarn'd,  Almeyda,  marriage  is  thy  crime. 

^  "  As  very  well  he  may,  if  he  hath  any  modesty  in  him," 
says  Mr.  D — s.  The  author  of  Busiris  is  extremely  zealous  to 
prevent  the  sun's  blushing  at  any  indecent  object ;  and  there- 

ITo] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Nood.  Oh,  sir  !  this  purpose  of  your  soul  pursue. 

Bail.    Oh  !  sir  !  I  have  an  action  against  jou. 

Nood.    At  whose  suit  is  it  ? 

Bail.    At  your  taylor's,  sir. 
Your  taylor  put  tliis  warrant  in  my  hands, 
And  I  arrest  you,  sir,  at  his  commands. 

Thumb.    Ha  !  dogs  !     Arrest  my  friend  before  my 
face ! 
Think  you  Tom  Thumb  will  suffer  this  disgrace  .? 
But  let  vain  cowards  threaten  by  their  word, 
Tom  Thumb  shall  shew  his  anger  by  his  sword. 

[^Kills  Bailiff  and  Follower. 

Bail.    Oh,  I  am  slain  ! 

Fol.  I  am  murdered  also. 

And  to  the  shades,  the  dismal  shades  below, 
My  bailiflTs  faithful  follower  I  go. 

Nood.    ^  Go  then  to  hell,  like  rascals  as  you  are, 
And  give  our  service  to  the  bailiffs  there. 

fore  on  all  such  occasions  he  addresses  himself  to  the  sun,  and 
desires  him  to  keep  out  of  the  way. 

Rise  never  more,  O  sun  !  let  night  prevail, 

Eternal  darkness  close  the  world's  wide  scene.  —  Busirls. 

Sun  hide  thy  face,  and  put  the  world  in  mourning.  —  Ihid. 

Mr.  Banks  makes  the  sun  perform  the  office  of  Hymen,  and 
therefore  not  likely  to  be  disgusted  at  such  a  sight : 

The  sun  sets  forth  like  a  gay  brideman  with  you. 

—  Mary  Queen  of  Scots. 

1  Nourmahal  sends  the  same  message  to  heaven  ; 
For  I  would  have  you,  when  you  upwards  move. 
Speak  kindly  of  us  to  our  friends  above.  —  Aurengzehe. 

We  find  another  to  hell,  in  the  Persian  Princess  : 

Villain,  get  thee  down 

To  hell,  and  tell  them  that  the  fray  's  begun. 

[76] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Thumb.    Thus  perish  all  the  bailiffs  in  the  land, 
Till  debtors  at  noon-day  shall  walk  the  streets, 
And  no  one  fear  a  bailiff  or  his  writ. 

Scene  III.  —  The  Princess  Huncamunca's  Apartment, 

HuNCAMUNCA,    ClEORA,    MusTACHA. 

Hunc.    ^  Give  me  some  music  —  see  that  it  be  sad. 

Cleora  sings. 

Cupid,  ease  a  love-sick  maid, 
Bring  thy  quiver  to  her  aid  ; 
With  equal  ardour  wound  the  swain, 
Beauty  should  never  sigh  in  vain. 

Let  him  feel  the  pleasing  smart. 
Drive  the  arrow  through  his  heart : 
When  one  you  wound,  you  then  destroy ; 
When  both  you  kill,  you  kill  with  joy. 

Hunc.    ^O  Tom  Thumb!    Tom  Thumb!    where- 
fore art   thou   Tom   Thumb.' 
Why  hadst  thou  not  been  born  of  rojal  race.? 
Why  had   not  mighty  Bantam  been  thy  father.? 
Or  else  the  king  of  Brentford,  Old  or  New  ? 

Must.  I  am  surprised  that  your  highness  can  give 
yourself  a  moment's  uneasiness  about  that  little  in- 
significant   fellow,^  Tom    Thumb  the    Great  —  one 

1  Anthony  gives  the  same  command  in  the  same  words. 

2  Oh  !  Marius,  Marius,  wherefore  art  thou  Marius  ? 

Otxoay^s  Marius. 

'  Nothing  is  more  common  than  these  seeming  contradic- 
tions ;  such  as. 

Haughty  weakness.  —  Victim. 
Great  small  world.  —  Noah's  Flood. 

[77] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

properei-  for  a  play  thing  than  a  husband.  Were  he 
my  husband  his  horns  should  be  as  long  as  his  body. 
If  you  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  grenadier,  I  should 
not  have  wondered  at  it.  If  you  had  fallen  in  love 
with  something ;  but  to  fall  in  love  with  nothing ! 

Htmc.    Cease,  my  Mustacha,  on  thy  duty  cease. 
The  zephyr,  when  in  flowery  vales  it  plays. 
Is  not  so  soft,  so  sweet  as  Thummy's  breath. 
The  dove  is  not  so  gentle  to  its  mate. 

Must.  The  dove  is  every  bit  as  proper  for  a  hus- 
Ijand.  —  Alas !  Madam,  there 's  not  a  beau  about  the 
court  looks  so  little  like  a  man.  He  is  a  perfect  but- 
terfly, a  thing  without  substance,  and  almost  without 
shadow  too. 

Hunc.    This  rudeness  is  unseasonable :  desist ; 
Or  I  shall  think  this  railing  comes  from  love. 
Tom  Thumb 's  a  creature  of  that  charming  form. 
That  no  one  can  abuse,  unless  they  love  him. 

Must.    Madam,  the  king. 

Scene  IV.  —  King,  Huncamunca. 

King.    Let  all  but  Huncamunca  leave  the  room. 
[^Exeunt  Clkora  and  Mustacha. 
Daughter,  I  have  observed  of  late  some  grief 
Unusual  in  your  countenance :  your  eyes 
^  That,  like  two  open  windows,  used  to  shew 

1  Lee  hath  improved  this  metaphor  : 

Dost  thou  not  view  joy  peeping  from  my  eyes, 
The  casements  open'd  wide  to  gaze  on  thee  ? 

So  Rome's  glad  citizens  to  windows  rise, 

When  they  some  young  triumpher  fain  would  see. 

: —  Gloriana, 

[78] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

The  lovely  beauty  of  the  rooms  within, 
Have  now  two  blinds  before  them.    What  is  the  cause? 
Say,  have  you  not  enough  of  meat  and  drink  ? 
We've  given  strict  orders  not  to  have  you  stinted. 

Hunc.    Alas  !  my  lord,  I  value  not  myself 
That  once  I  eat  two  fowls  and  half  a  pig ; 
^  Small  is  that  praise !  but  oh  !  a  maid  may  ATant 
What  she  can  neither  eat  nor  drink. 

King.  ^Vhat  's  that  ? 

Hunc.    O  ^  spare  my  blushes ;  but  I  mean  a  husband. 

^  Almahide  hath  the  same  contempt  for  these  appetites. 
To  eat  and  drink  can  no  perfection  be. 

—  Cunqnent  of  Granada. 

The  earl  of  Essex  is  of  a  different  opinion,  and  seems  to 
place  the  chief  happiness  of  a  general  therein  : 

Were  but  commanders  half  so  well  rewarded. 
Then  they  might  eat.  —  Baiiks's  Earl  of  Essex. 

But,  if  we  may  believe  one  who  knows  more  than  either,  the 
devil  himself,  we  shall  find  eating  to  be  an  aflf^iir  of  more 
moment  than  is  generally  imagined : 

Gods  are  immortal  only  by  their  food. 

—  Lnicifer,  in  the  State  of  Innocence. 

2  "  This  expression  is  enough  of  itself,"  says  Mr.  D. ,  "  utterly 
to  destroy  the  character  of  Huncamunca  !  "  Yet  we  find  a 
woman  of  no  abandoned  character  in  Dryden  adventuring 
farther,  and  thus  excusing  herself: 

To  speak  our  wishes  first,  forbid  it  pride. 

Forbid  it  modesty  ;  true,  they  forbid  it. 

But  Nature  does  not.     When  we  are  athirst, 

Or  hungry,  will  imperious  Nature  stay. 

Nor  eat,  nor  drink,  before  't  is  bid  fall  on  ?—Cleomenes. 

Cassandra  speaks  before  she  is  asked  :  Hunc;amunca  after- 
wards. Cassandra  speaks  her  wishes  to  her  lover  :  Hunca- 
munca only  to  her  father. 

[  T9  J 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

King.    If  that  be  all,  I  have  provided  one, 
A  husband  great  in  arms,  whose  warlike  sword 
Streams  with  the  yellow  blood  of  slaLighter''d  giants. 
Whose  name  in  Terra  Incognita  is  known, 
Whose  valour,  wisdom,  virtue  make  a  noise 
Great  as  the  kettle-drums  of  twenty  armies. 

Hunc,    Whom  does  my  royal  father  mean  ? 

King.  Tom  Thumb. 

Hunc.    Is  it  possible  ? 

King.  Ha!  the  window-blinds  are  gone ; 

^  A  country -dance  of  joy  is  in  your  face. 
Your  eyes  spit  fire,  your  cheeks  grow  red  as  beef. 

Hunc.    O,  there  ""s  a  magick-musick  in  that  sound, 
Enough  to  turn  me  into  beef  indeed ! 
Yes,  I  will  own,  since  licensed  by  your  word, 
I  'll  own  Tom  Thumb  the  cause  of  all  my  grief. 
For  him   I  Ve  sigh'd,   I  've  wept,   I  've  gnaw'd   my 
sheets. 

King.    Oh  !  thou  shalt  gnaw  thy  tender  sheets  no 
more. 
A  husband  thou  shalt  have  to  mumble  now. 

Hunc.    Oh !  happy  sound !  henceforth  let  no  one 
tell 
That  Huncamunca  shall  lead  apes  in  hell. 
Oh !  I  am  overjoyed  ! 

King.  I  see  thou  art. 

^Joy  lightens  in  thy  eyes,  and  thunders  from  thy  brows; 

^  Her  eyes  resistless  magick  bear  ; 
Angels,  I  see,  and  gods,  are  dancing  there. 

—  Lee's  Sophonisba. 

2  Mr.   Dennis,  in  that  excellent  tragedy  called  Liberty  As- 
serted, which  is  thought  to  have  given  so  great  a  stroke  to  the 

[80] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Transports,  like  lightning,  dart  along  thy  soul, 
As  small-shot  through  a  hedge. 

Hunc.  Oh  !  say  not  small. 

King.    This  happy  news  shall  on  our  tongue  ride 
post, 
Ourself  we  bear  the  happy  news  to  Thumb. 
Yet  think  not,  daughter,  that  your  powerful  charms 
Must  still  detain  the  hero  from  his  arms ; 
Various  his  duty,  various  his  delight ; 
Now  in  his  turn  to  kiss,  and  now  to  fight, 
And  now  to  kiss  again.     So,  mighty  ^  Jove, 
When  with  excessive  thundering  tired  above, 
Comes  down  to  earth,  and  takes  a  bit  —  and  then 
Flies  to  his  trade  of  thundVing  back  again. 

Scene  V.  —  Grizzle,  Huncamunca. 

^  Griz.    Oh  !  Huncamunca,  Huncamunca,  oh  ! 
Thy  pouting  breasts,  like  kettle-drums  of  brass, 

late   French  king,  hath  frequent  imitations  of  this  beautiful 
speech  of  King  Arthur  : 

Conquest  light'ning  in  his  eyes,  and  thund'ring  in  his  arm. 

Joy  lighten'd  in  her  eyes. 

Joys  like  lightning  dart  along  my  souL 

1  Jove,  with  excessive  thund'ring  tired  above. 
Comes  down  for  ease,  enjoys  a  nymph,  and  then 
Mounts  dreadful,  and  to  thund'ring  goes  again.  —  Gloriana. 

^  This  beautiful  line,  which  ought,  says  Mr.  W ,  to  be 

written  in  gold,  is  imitated  in  the  New  Sophonisba : 
Oh  !  Sophonisba  ;  Sophonisba,  oh  ! 
Oh  !  Narva  ;  Narva,  oh  ! 
The  author  of  a  song  called  Duke  upon  Duke  hath  improved  it : 
Alas  !  O  Nick  !  O  Nick,  alas  ! 

Where,  by  the  help  of  a  little   false  spelling,  you  have  two 
meanings  in  the  repeated  words. 
VOL.  II.  —  6  [  ^1  ] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Beat  everlasting  loud  alarms  of  joy  ; 

As  bright  as  brass  they  are,  and  oh,  as  hard. 

Oh  !  Huncamunca,  Huncamunca,  oh  ! 

Hunc.    Ha  !  dost  thou  know  me,  princess  as  I  am, 
^  That  thus  of  me  you  dare  to  make  your  game  ? 

Griz.    Oh  !  Huncamunca,  well  I  know  that  you 
A  princess  are,  and  a  king's  daughter,  too  ; 
But  love  no  meanness  scorns,  no  grandeur  fears ; 
Love  often  lords  into  the  cellar  bears, 
And  bids  the  sturdy  porter  come  up  stairs. 
For  what 's  too  high  for  love,  or  what 's  too  low  ? 
Oh  !   Huncamunca,  Huncamunca,  oh  ! 

Hunc.   But,  granting  all   you   say  of  love  were 
true. 
My  love,  alas  !  is  to  another  due. 
In  vain  to  me  a  suitoring  you  come. 
For  I  'm  already  promised  to  Tom  Thumb. 

Griz.    And  can  my  princess  such  a  durgen  wed? 
One  fitter  for  your  pocket  than  your  bed ! 
Advised  by  me,  the  worthless  baby  shun, 
Or  you  will  ne'er  be  brought  to  bed  of  one. 
Oh  take  me  to  thy  arms,  and  never  flinch, 
Who  am  a  man,  by  Jupiter !  every  inch. 
2  Then,  while  in  joys  together  lost  we  lie, 
I  '11  press  thy  soul  while  gods  stand  wishing  by. 

1  Edith,  in  the  Bloody  Brother,  speaks  to  her  lover  in  the 
same  familiar  language : 

Your  grace  is  full  of  game. 

'  Traverse  the  glitt'ring  chambers  of  the  sky. 
Borne  on  a  cloud  in  view  of  fate  I  '11  lie. 
And  press  her  soul  while  gods  stand  wishing  by. 

—  Hannibal. 

[82] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Hunc.    If,  sir,  what  you  insinuate  vou  prove. 
All  obstacles  of  promise  you  remove  ; 
For  all  engagements  to  a  man  must  fall. 
Whene'er  that  man  is  proved  no  man  at  all. 

Griz.    Oh !   let  him  seek  some  dwarf,  some  fairy 
miss. 
Where  no  joint-stool  must  lift  him  to  the  liiss  ' 
But,  by  the  stars  and  glory  !  you  appear 
Much  fitter  for  a  Prussian  grenadier ; 
One  globe  alone  on  Atlas'  shoulders  rests. 
Two  globes  are  less  than  Huncaraunca's  breasts  ; 
The  milky  way  is  not  so  white,  that 's  flat. 
And  sure  thy  breasts  are  full  as  large  as  that. 

Hunc.    Oh,  sir,  so  strong  your  eloquence  I  find, 
It  is  impossible  to  be  unkind. 

Griz.    Ah  !   speak   that    o'er  again,  and    let    the 
^  sound 
From  one  pole  to  another  pole  rebound ; 
The  earth  and  sky  each  be  a  battledore, 
And  keep  the  sound,  that  shuttlecock,  up  an  hour : 
To  Doctors'  Commons  for  a  licence  I 
Swift  as  an  arrow  from  a  bow  will  fly. 

Hunc.    Oh,    no !    lest    some    disaster    we    should 
meet 
'T  were  better  to  be  married  at  the  Fleet. 

Gr'iz.    Forbid  it,  all  ye  powers,  a  princess  should 
By  that  vile  place  contaminate  her  blood ; 

1  Let  the  four  winds  from  distant  corners  meet, 
And  on  their  wings  first  bear  it  into  France  ; 
Then  back  again  to  P^dina's  proud  walls. 
Till  victim  to  the  sound  th'  aspiring  city  falls. 

—  Albion  Queens. 

[83] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

My  quick  retuni  shall  to  my  charmer  prove 
I  travel  on  the  ^  post-horses  of  love. 

Hunc.   Those   post-horses  to   me   will   seem  too 
slow- 
Though  they  should  fly  swift  as  the  gods,  when  they 
Ride  on  behind  that  post-boy,  Opportunity. 

Scene  VI  —  Tom  Thumb,  Huncamunca. 

Thumb.    Where  is  my  princess  ?  where 's  my  Hun- 
camunca ? 
Where  are  those  eyes,  those  cardmatches  of  love, 
That  2  light  up  all  with  love  my  waxen  soul  ? 
Where  is  that  face  which  artful  nature  made 
3  In  the  same  moulds  where  Venus's  self  was  cast .? 

1  I  do  not  remember  any  metaphors  so  frequent  in  the  tragic 
poets  as  those  borrowed  from  riding  post : 

The  gods  and  opportunity  ride  post.  —  Hannibal. 

Let 's  rush  together. 

For  death  rides  post !  —  I>ake  of  &uis0. 

Destruction  gallops  to  thy  murder  post,  —  Gloriana. 
'  This  image,  too,  very  often  occurs  : 

Bright  as  when  thy  eye 
First  lighted  up  our  loves.  —  Aurengzehe. 

T  is  not  a  crown  alone  lights  up  my  name.  —  Busiris. 

«  There  is  great  dissension  among  the  poets  concerning  the 
method  of  making  man.  One  tells  his  mistress  that  the  mould 
she  was  made  in  being  lost,  Heaven  cannot  form  such  another. 
Lucifer,  in  Dryden,  gives  a  merry  description  of  his  own 
formation  : 

Whom  heaven,  neglecting,  made  and  scarce  design 'd. 
But  threw  me  in  for  num  ber  to  the  rest.  —  State  of  Innocence. 

[84] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Hunc.    ^  Oh  !  what  is  music  to  the  ear  that  ""s  deaf, 
Or  a  goose-pie  to  him  that  has  no  taste? 
What  are  these  praises  now  to  me,  since  I 
Am  promised  to  another  ? 

Thumb.  Ha  !  promised  ? 

In  one  place  the  same  poet  supposes  man  to  be  made  of 
metal : 

I  was  form'd 
Of  that  coarse  metal  which,  when  she  was  made 
The  gods  threw  by  for  rubbish.  —  All  for  Love. 

In  another  of  dough  : 

When  the  gods  moulded  up  the  paste  of  man, 
Some  of  their  clay  was  left  upon  their  hands, 
And  so  they  made  Egyptians.  —  Cleomenes. 

In  another  of  clay  : 

Rubbish  of  remaining  clay.  —  Sebastian. 

One  makes  the  soul  of  wax  : 

Her  waxen  soul  begins  to  melt  apace,  —  Anna  Bullen. 

Another  of  flint  : 

Sure  our  two  souls  have  somewhere  been  acquainted 

In  former  beings,  or,  struck  out  together. 

One  spark  to  Africk  flew,  and  one  to  Portugal.  —  Sebastian. 

To  omit  the  great  quantities  of  iron,  brazen,  and  leaden  souls 
which  are  so  plenty  in  modern  authors  —  I  cannot  omit  the  dress 
of  a  soul  as  we  find  it  in  Dryden  : 

Souls  shirted  but  with  air. —  King  Arthur. 

Nor  can  I  pass  by  a  partic:ular  sort  of  soul  in  a  particular  sort 
of  description  in  the  New  Sophonisba  : 

Ye  mysterious  powers, 

Whether  thro'  your  gloomy  depths  I  wander. 

Or  on  the  mountains  walk,  give  me  the  calm, 
The  steady  smiling  soul,  where  wisdom  sheds 
Eternal  sunshine,  and  eternal  joy. 

^  This  line  I\Ir.  Banks  has  plunder'd  entire  in  his  Anna  Bullen. 

[85j 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Hunc.    Too  sure  ;  't  is  written  in  the  book  of  fate. 

Thumb.    ^  Then  I  will  tear  away  the  leaf 
Wherein  it's  writ ;  or,  if  fate  won't  allow 
So  large  a  gap  within  its  journal-book, 
1 11  blot  it  out  at  least. 


Scene  VII.  —  Glumdalca,  Tom  Thumb,  Huncamunca. 

Glum.   2 1  need  not  ask  if  you  are  Huncamunca. 
Your  brandy-nose  proclaims 

Hunc.  I  am  a  princess ; 

Nor  need  I  ask  who  you  are. 

Glum.  A  giantess ; 

The  queen  of  those  who  made  and  unmade  queens. 

Hunc.    The  man  whose  chief  ambition  is  to  be 
My  sweetheart  hath  destroyed  these  mighty  giants. 

Glum.    Your  sweetheart  ?     Dost  thou  think   the 
man  who  once 
Hath  worn  my  easy  chains  will  e'er  wear  thine? 

Hunc.    Well  may  your  chains  be  easy,  since,  if 
fame 
Says  true,  they  have  been  tried  on  twent}'  husbands. 

1  Good  Heaven  !  the  book  of  fate  before  me  lay, 
But  to  tear  out  the  journal  of  that  day. 
Or,  if  the  order  of  the  world  below  -\ 

Will  not  the  gap  of  one  whole  day  allow,  > 

Give  me  that  minute  when  she  made  her  vow.      ) 

—  Conquest  of  Granada. 

^  I  know  some  of  the  commentators  have  imagined  that 
Mr.  Dryden,  in  the  altercative  scene  between  Cleopatra  and 
Octavia,  a  scene  which  Mr.  Addison  inveighs  against  with 
great  bitterness,  is  much  beholden  to  our  author.  How  just 
this  their  observation  is  I  will  not  presume  to  determine. 

[86] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

^The  glove  or  boot,  so  many  times  pulPd  on, 
May  well  sit  easy  on  the  hand  or  foot. 

Glum.  I  glory  in  the  number,  and  when  I 
Sit  poorly  down,  like  thee,  content  with  one, 
Heaven  change  this  face  for  one  as  bad  as  thine. 

Hunc.    Let  me  see  nearer  what  this  beauty  is 
That  captivates  the  heart  of  men  by  scores. 

\_Holds  a  candle  to  her  face. 
Oh  !  Heaven,  thou  art  as  ugly  as  the  devil. 

Ghim.    You  'd  give  the  best  of  shoes  within  your 
shop 
To  be  but  half  so  handsome. 

Hunc.  Since  you  come 

^  To  that,  I  '11  put  my  beauty  to  the  test : 
Tom  Thumb,  I  'rn  yours,  if  you  with  me  will  go. 

1  "  A  cobling  poet  indeed,"  says  Mr.  D. ;  and  yet  I  believe 
we  may  find  as  monstrous  images  in  the  tragick  authors  :  I  '11 
put  down  one  : 

Untie  your  folded  thoughts,  and  let  them  dangle  loose  as  a 
bride's  hair.  —  Injured  Love. 

Which  line  seems  to  have  as  much  title  to  a  milliner's  shop  as 
our  author's  to  a  shoemaker's. 

2  Mr.  L takes  occasion  in  this  place  to  commend  the 

great  care  of  our  author  to  preserve  the  metre  of  blank  verse, 
in  which  Shakspeare,  Jonson,  and  Fletcher,  were  so  notoriously 
negligent ;  and  the  moderns,  in  imitation  of  our  author,  so 
laudably  observant  : 

Then  does 
Your  majesty  believe  that  he  can  be 
A  traitor  ?  —  Earl  of  Essex. 

Every  page  of  Sophonisba  gives  us  instances  of  this  excel- 
lence. 

[87] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Glum.    Oh  !  stay,  Tom  Thumb,  and  you  alone  shall 
fill 
That  bed  where  twenty  giants  used  to  lie. 

Thumb.    In  the  balcony  that  overhangs  the  stage, 
I  've  seen  a  whore  two  'prentices  engage ; 
One  half-a-crown  does  in  his  fingers  hold. 
The  other  shews  a  little  piece  of  gold ; 
She  the  half-guinea  wisely  does  purloin. 
And  leaves  the  larger  and  the  baser  coin. 

Glum.    Left,  scornd,  and  loathed  for  such  a  chit 
as  this ; 
^  I  feel  the  storm  that 's  rising  in  my  mind, 
Tempests  and  whirlwinds  rise,  and  roll,  and  roar. 

1  'm  all  within  a  hurricane,  as  if 

2  The    world's    four    winds    were    pent    within    my 

carcase. 
8  Confusion,  horror,  murder,  guts,  and  death ! 

Scene  VIII.  —  King,  Glumdalca. 

King.    *  Sure  never  was  so  sad  a  king  as  I ! 
^  My  life  is  worn  as  ragged  as  a  coat 

1  Love  mounts  and  rolls  about  my  stormy  mind, 

—  Aurengzehe. 

Tempests  and  whirlwinds  thro'  ray  bosom  move. 

—  Cleomenes. 

2  With  such  a  furious  tempest  on  his  brow, 
As  if  the  world's  four  winds  were  pent  within 
His  blustering  carcase.  —  Anna  Bullen. 

'  Verba  Tragica. 

*  This  speech  has  been  terribly  mauled  by  the  poet 

6  My  life  is  worn  to  rags. 

Not  worth  a  prince's  wearing.  —  Love  Triumphant. 

[88  J 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

A  beggar  wears  ;  a  prince  should  put  it  off. 

1  To  love  a  captive  and  a  giantess  ! 

Oh  love  !  oh  love !  how  great  a  king  art  thou  I 

My  tongue 's  thy  trumpet,  and  thou  trunipetest, 

Uni<nown  to  me,  within  me.     ^  Oh,  Glumdalca ! 

Heaven  thee  designed  a  giantess  to  make, 

But  an  ang-elick  soul  was  shuffled  in. 

3 1  am  a  multitude  of  walking  griefs. 

And  only  on  her  lips  the  balm  is  found 

*  To  spread  a  plaster  that  might  cure  them  all. 

Glum.    What  do  I  hear  ? 

King.  What  do  I  see  } 

Glum.  Oh ! 

King.  Ah ! 

^  Glum.    Ah  !   wretched  queen  ! 


1 


Must  I  beg  the  pity  of  my  slave  ? 
Must  a  king  beg  ?     But  love  's  a  greater  king, 
A  tyrant,  nay,  a  devil,  that  possesses  me. 
He  tunes  the  organ  of  my  voice  and  speaks. 
Unknown  to  me,  within  me.  —  Sebastian. 

2  When  thou  wert  form'd,  heaven  did  a  man  begin  ; 
But  a  brute  soul  by  chance  was  shuffled  in.  — Aurengzehe. 

8  I  am  a  multitude. 
Of  walking  griefs.  —  New  Sophonisba. 

*  I  will  take  thy  scorpion  blood. 
And  lay  it  to  my  grief  till  I  have  ease.  — Anna  Bullen. 

5  Our  author,  who  everywhere  shews  his  great  penetration 
into  human  nature,  here  outdoes  himself :  where  a  less  judicious 
poet  would  have  raised  a  long  scene  of  whining  love,  he,  who 
understood  the  passions  better,  and  that  so  violent  an  affection 
as  this  must  be  too  big  for  utterance,  chuses  rather  to  send  his 
characters  off  in  this  sullen  and  doleful  manner,  in  which 
admirable  conduct  he  is  imitated  by  the  author  of  the  justly 

[89] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

King.  Oh  !  wretched  king  ! 

1  Glum.  Ah ! 

King.  Oh ! 

Scene  IX.  —  Tom  Thumb,  Huncamunca,  Parson. 

Par.  Happy 's  the  wooing  that 's  not  long  a  doing ; 
For,  if  I  guess  right,  Tom  Thumb  this  night 
Shall  give  a  being  to  a  new  Tom  Thumb. 

Thumb.    It  shall  be  my  endeavour  so  to  do. 

Htmc.    Oh  !  fie  upon  you,  sir,  you  make  me  blush. 

Thumb.    It  is  the  virgin's  sign,  and  suits  you  well : 
2  I  know  not  where,  nor  how,  nor  what  I  am  ; 
2  I  am  so  transported,  I  have  lost  myself. 

celebrated  Eurydice.    Dr.  Young  seems  to  point  at  this  violence 

of  passion  : 

Passion  choaks 

Their  words,  and  they're  the  statues  of  despair. 

And  Seneca  tells  us,  "  Curae  leves  loquuntur,  ingentes  stupent" 
The  story  of  the  Egyptian  king  in  Herodotus  is  too  well  known 
to  need  to  be  inserted  ;  I  refer  the  more  curious  reader  to  the 
excellent  Montaigne,  who  hath  written  an  essay  on  this 
subject. 

1  To  part  is  death. 

'  Tis  death  to  part. 

Ah\ 

Oh  !  —  Don  Carlos. 

2  Nor  know  I  whether 

What  am  I,  who,  or  where.  —  Busiris. 

I  was  I  know  not  what,  and  am  I  know  not  how. 

—  Oloriana. 

8  To  understand  sufficiently  the  beauty  of  this  passage,  it 
will  be  necessary  that  we  comprehend  every  man  to  contain 
two  selfs.  I  shall  not  attempt  to  prove  this  from  philosophy, 
which  the  poets  make  so  plainly  evident 

[90] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Hunc.    Forbid  it,  all  ye  stars,  for  you  're  so  small, 
That  were  you  lost,  you  Vl  find  yourself  no  more. 
So  the  unhappy  sempstress  once,  they  say, 
Her  needle  in  a  pottle,  lost,  of  hay  ; 

One  runs  away  from  the  other  : 

Let  me  demand  your  majesty, 

Why  fly  you  from  yourself?  —  Duke  of  Ouise. 

In  a  second,  one  self  is  a  guardian  to  the  other  : 

Leave  me  the  care  of  me.  —  Conquest  of  Granada. 

Again  : 

Myself  am  to  myself  less  near.  —  Ibid. 

In  the  same,  the  first  self  is  proud  of  the  second  : 

I  myself  am  proud  of  me.  —  State  of  Innocence. 

In  a  third,  distrustful  of  him  : 

Fain  I  would  tell,  but  whisper  it  in  my  ear, 
That  none  besides  might  hear,  nay,  not  myself. 

—  Ea7-l  of  Essex. 
In  a  fourth,  honours  him  : 

I  honour  Rome, 

And  honour  too  myself.  —  Sophonisba. 

In  a  fifth,  at  variance  with  him  : 

Leave  me  not  thus  at  variance  with  myself.  —  Busiris. 

Again,  in  a  sixth  : 

I  find  myself  divided  from  myself.  —  Medea. 

She  seemed  the  sad  effigies  of  herself  —  Banks. 

Assist  me,  Zulema,  if  thou  would'st  be 

The  friend  thou  seem'st,  assist  me  against  me. 

—  Albion  Queens. 

From  all  which  it  appears  that  there  are  two  selfs  ;  and 
therefore  Tom  Thumb's  losing  himself  is  no  such  solecism  as 
it  hath  been  represented  by  men  rather  ambitious  of  criticising 
than  qualified  to  criticise. 

[91] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

In  vain  she  look'd,  and  looked,  and  made  her  moan, 
For  ah,  the  needle  was  forever  gone. 

Par.    Long  may  they  live,  and  love,  and  propagate. 
Till  the  whole  land  be  peopled  with  Tom  Thumbs ! 
^  So,  when  the  Cheshire  cheese  a  maggot  breeds. 
Another  and  another  still  succeeds  : 
By  thousands  and  ten  thousands  they  increase. 
Till  one  continued  maggot  fills  the  rotten  cheese. 


Scene  X.  —  Noodle,  and  then  Grizzle. 

Nood.   2  Sure,    Nature   means  to   break  her  solid 
chain, 
Or  else  unfix  the  world,  and  in  a  rage 
To  hurl  it  from  its  axletree  and  hinges  ; 
All  things  are  so  confused,  the  king 's  in  love. 
The  queen  is  drunk,  the  princess  married  is. 

Griz.    Oh,  Noodle  !     Hast  thou  Huncamunca  seen  ? 

Nood.    I  have  seen   a  thousand  sights  this    day, 
where  none 
Are  by  the  wonderful  bitch  herself  outdone. 
The  king,  the  queen,  and  all  the  court,  are  sights. 

1  Mr.  F imagines  this  parson  to  have  been  a  Welsh  one 

from  his  simile. 

*  Our  author  hath  been  plundered  here,  according  to  custom. 

Great  nature,  break  thy  chain  that  links  together 
The  fabrick  of  the  world,  and  make  a  chaos 
Like  that  within  my  soul.  —  Love  Triumphant. 

Startle  Nature,  unfix  the  globe. 

And  hurl  it  from  its  axletree  and  hinges. 

—  Albion  Queens. 

The  tott'ring  earth  seems  sliding  off  its  props. 

[92] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Gfb:.    ^  D —    jour   delay,   you   trifler !    are    you 
drunk,  ha ! 
I  will  not  hear  one  word  but  Huncamunca. 

Nood.    By  this  time  she  is  married  to  Tom  Thumb. 
Griz.    ^  IVIy  Huncamunca  ! 
Nood.    Your  Huncamunca, 
Tom   Thumb's    Huncamunca,   every    man''s    Hunca- 
munca. 
Griz.    If  this  be  true,  all  womankind  are  damn'd. 
Nood.    If  it  be  not,  may  I  be  so  myself. 
Griz.    See  where    she  comes !     I  '11  not  believe  a 
word 
Against  that  face,  upon  whose  ^  ample  brow 
Sits  innocence  with  majesty  enthroned. 

Grizzle,  Huncamunca. 

Griz.    Where  has    my  Huncamunca  been  ?      See 
here. 
The  licence  in  my  hand  ! 

Hunc.  Alas  !  Tom  Thumb. 

Griz.    Why  dost  thou  mention  him  ? 
Hunc.  Ah,  me  !  Tom  Thumb. 

Griz.    What  means  my  lovely  Huncamunca  ? 
Hunc.  Hum  ! 

1  D — n  your  delay,  ye  torturers,  proceed  ; 
I  will  not  hear  one  word  but  Almahide. 

—  Conquest  of  Oranada. 

^  Mr.  Dryden  hath  imitated  this  in  All  for  Love. 

*  This  Miltonic  style  abounds  in  the  New  Sophonisba  : 

And  on  her  ample  brow 

Sat  majesty. 

[93J 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Griz.    Oh  !  speak. 

Hunc.  Hum  ! 

Griz.  Ha !  your  every  word  is  hum  : 

*  You  force  me  still  to  answer  you,  Tom  Thumb. 
Tom  Thumb  —  I  'm  on  the  rack  —  I  'm  in  a  flame. 
2  Tom  Thumb,  Tom  Thumb,  Tom   Thumb  — you 

love  the  name  ; 
So  pleasing  is  that  sound,  that  were  you  dumb. 
You  still  would  find  a  voice  to  cry  Tom  Thumb. 

Hunc.    Oh  !  be  not  hasty  to  proclaim  my  doom  ! 
My  ample  heart  for  more  than  one  has  room  : 
A  maid  like  me  Heaven  formed  at  least  for  two. 
31  married  him,  and  now  I'll  marry  you. 

Griz.    Ha!    dost  thou    own  thy  falsehood  to  my 
face  ? 
Think'st  thou  that  I  will  share  thy  husband's  place  ? 
Since  to  that  office  one  cannot  suffice. 
And  since  you  scorn  to  dine  one  single  dish  on, 
Go,  get  your  husband  put  into  commission. 

1  Your  every  answer  still  so  ends  in  that. 

You  force  me  still  to  answer  you  Morat.  —Aurengze.be. 

2  Morat,  Morat,  Morat !  you  love  the  name.  —  Aurengzehe. 

8  "  Here  is   a  sentiment  for  the  virtuous   Huncamunca  !  " 

says  Mr.  D s.     And  yet,  with  the  leave  of  this  great  man, 

the  virtuous  Panthea,  in  Cyrus,  hath  an  heart  every  whit  as 
ample  : 

For  two  I  must  confess  are  gods  to  me, 

Which  is  ray  Abradatus  first,  and  thee.  —  Cyrus  the  Great. 

Nor  is  the  lady  in  Love  Triumphant  more  reserved,  though  not 
so  intelligible  : 

I  am  so  divided, 
That  I  grieve  most  for  both,  and  love  both  most. 

[94] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Commissioners  to  discharge  (ye  gods  !  it  fine  is) 

The  duty  of  a  husband  to  your  highness. 

Yet  think  not  long  I  will  my  rival  bear, 

Or  unrevenged  the  slighted  willow  wear ; 

The  gloomy,  brooding  tempest,  now  confined 

Within  the  hollow  caverns  of  my  mind, 

In  dreadful  whirl  shall  roll  along  the  coasts. 

Shall  thin  the  land  of  all  the  men  it  boasts, 

^  And  cram  up  evVy  chink  of  hell  witli  ghosts. 

2  So  have  I  seen,  in  some  dark  winter's  day, 

A  sudden  storm  rush  down  the  sky's  highway, 

Sweep  through  the  streets  with  terrible  ding-dong, 

Gush  through  the  spouts,  and  wash  whole  crouds  along 

The  crouded  shops  the  thronging  vermin  skreen. 

Together  cram  the  dirty  and  the  clean. 

And  not  one  shoe-boy  in  the  street  is  seen. 

Hunc.    Oh,  fatal  rashness  !  should  his  fury  slay 

1  A  ridiculous  supposition  to  any  one  who  considers  the 
great  and  extensive  largeness  of  hell,  says  a  commentator  ;  but 
not  so  to  those  who  consider  the  great  expansion  of  immaterial 
substance.  Mr.  Banks  makes  one  soul  to  be  so  expanded,  that 
heaven  could  not  contain  it : 

The  heavens  are  all  too  narrow  for  her  soul. 

—  Virtue  Betrayed. 

The  Persian  Princess  hath  a  passage  not  unlike  the  author 
of  this  : 

We  will  send  such  shoals  of  murder'd  slaves, 
Shall  glut  heirs  empty  regions. 

This  threatens  to  fill  hell,  even  though  it  was  empty;  Lord 
Grizzle,  only  to  fill  up  the  chinks,  supposing  the  rest  already 
full. 

2  Mr.  Addison  is  generally  thought  to  have  had  th's  simile  in 
his  eye  when  he  wrote  that  beautiful  one  at  the  end  of  the  third 
act  of  his  Cato. 

[95] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

My  helpless  bridegroom  on  his  wctlding-day, 

I,  who  this  morn  of  two  chose  which  to  wed, 

May  go  again  this  night  alone  to  bed. 

^  So  have  I  seen  some  wild  unsettled  fool, 

Who  had  her  choice  of  this  and  that  joint-stool. 

To  give  the  preference  to  either  loth. 

And  fondly  coveting  to  sit  on  both. 

While  the  two  stools  her  sitting-part  confound. 

Between  "'em  both  fall  squat  upon  the  ground. 

1  This  beautiful  simile  is  founded  on  a  proverb  which  does 
honour  to  the  English  language  : 

Between  two  stools  the  breech  falls  to  the  ground. 

I  am  not  so  well  pleased  with  any  written  remains  of  the 
ancients  as  with  those  little  aphorisms  which  verbal  tradition 
hath  delivered  down  to  us  under  the  title  of  proverbs.  It  were 
to  be  wished  that,  instead  of  filling  their  pages  with  the  fabuloiis 
theology  of  the  pagans,  our  modern  poets  would  think  it  worth 
their  while  to  enrich  their  works  with  the  proverbial  sayings  of 
their  ancestors.     Mr.  Dryden  hath  chronicled  one  in  heroick  ; 

Two  ifs  scarce  make  one  possibility. 

—  Conquest  of  Granada. 

My  lord  Bacon  is  of  opinion  that  whatever  is  known  of  arts 
and  sciences  might  be  proved  to  have  lurked  in  the  Proverbs  of 
Solomon.  I  am  of  the  same  opinion  in  relation  to  those  above- 
mentioned  ;  at  least  I  am  confident  that  a  more  perfect  system 
of  ethicks,  as  well  as  oeconomy,  might  be  compiled  out  of  them 
than  is  at  present  extant,  either  in  the  works  of  the  ancient 
philosophers,  or  those  more  valuable,  as  more  voluminous  ones 
of  the  modern  divines. 


[96] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 


ACT   III 

Scene  I.  —  King  Arthur's  Palace, 

^  Ghost  (.wlu^s).    Hail !  ye    black    horrors   of  mid- 
night's midnoon ! 
Ye  fairies,  gobhns,  bats,  and  screech-owls,  hail  ! 
And,  oh  !  ye  mortal  watchmen,  whose  hoarse  throats 
Th'  immortal  ghosts  dread  croakings  counterfeit, 
All  hail !  —  Ye  dancing  phantoms,  who,  by  day, 
Are  some  condenni'd  to  fast,  some  feast  in  fire, 

1  Of  all  the  particulars  in  which  the  modern  stage  falls  short 
of  the  ancient,  there  is  none  so  much  to  be  lamented  as  the 
great  scarcity  of  ghosts.  Whence  this  proceeds  I  will  not  pre- 
sume to  determine.  Some  are  of  opinion  that  the  moderns 
are  unequal  to  that  sublime  language  which  a  ghost  ought  to 
speak.  One  says,  ludicrously,  that  ghosts  are  out  of  fashion  ; 
another,  that  they  are  properer  for  comedy  ;  forgetting,  I  sup- 
pose, that  Aristotle  hath  told  us  that  a  ghost  is  the  .soul  of 
tragedy  ;  for  so  I  render  the  ypvxh  <5  fJ-^Oos  rrjs  rpayajSlas,  which 
M.  Dacier,  amongst  others,  hath  mistaken  ;  I  suppose,  misled 
by  not  understanding  the  Fabula  of  the  Latins,  which  signifies 
a  ghost  as  well  as  fable. 

"  Te  premet  nox,  fabulaeque  manes."  —  Horace. 

Of  all  the  ghosts  that  have  ever  appeared  on  the  stage,  a  very 
learned  and  judicious  foreign  critick  gives  the  preference  to  this 
of  our  author.  These  are  his  words,  speaking  of  this  tragedy  :  — 
"  Nee  quidquam  in  ilia  admirabilius  qukm  phasma  quoddam 
horrendum,  quod  omnibus  aliis  .spectris,  quibuscum  scatet 
Angelorum  tragoedia,  longe  (pace  D — yssi  V.  Doctiss.  dixerim) 
prsetulerini." 

VOL.  II.  —7  [  97  ] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Now  play  in  churchyards,  skipping  o'er  the  graves, 
To  the  ^  loud  music  of  the  silent  bell, 
All  hail ! 

Scene  II.  —  King,  Ghost. 

King.    What  noise  is  this  ?     What  villain  dares, 
At  this  dread  hour,  with  feet  and  voice  profane. 
Disturb  our  royal  walls.? 

Ghost.  One  who  defies 

Thy  empty  power  to  hurt  him  ;  ^one  who  dares 
Walk  in  thy  bedchamber. 

King.  Presumptuous  slave  ! 

Thou  diest. 

Ghost.  Threaten  others  with  that  word : 

^  I  am  a  ghost,  and  am  already  dead. 

1  We  have  already  given  instances  of  this  figure. 

2  Ahnanzor  reasons  in  the  same  manner  : 

A  ghost  I  '11  be  ; 
And  from  a  ghost,  you  know,  no  place  is  free. 

—  Conquest  of  Granada. 

8  "The  man  who  writ  this  wretched  pun,"  says  Mr.  D., 
"  would  have  picked  your  pocket :  "  which  he  proceeds  to  shew- 
not  only  bad  in  itself,  but  doubly  so  on  so  solemn  an  occasion. 
And  yet,  in  that  excellent  play  of  Liberty  Asserted,  we  find 
something  very  much  resembling  a  pun  in  the  mouth  of  a  mis- 
tress, who  is  parting  with  the  lover  she  is  fond  of : 

Ul.    Oh,  mortal  woe  !   one  kiss,  and  then  farewell. 
Irene.   The  gods  have  given  to  others  to  fare  welL 
O  !  miserably  must  Irene  fare. 

Agamemnon,  in  the  Victim,  is  full  as  facetious  on  the  most 
solemn  occasion  —  that  of  sacrificing  his  daughter  : 

Yes,  daughter,  yes  ;  you  will  assist  the  priest ; 
Yes,  you  must  offer  up  your  —  vows  for  Greece. 

[98] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

King.    Ye  stars  !  ""t  is  well.     Were  thy  last  hour  to 
come, 
This  moment  had  been  it ;  ^  yet  by  thy  shroud 
I'll  pull  thee  backward,  squeeze  thee  to  a  bladder, 
Till  thou  dost  groan  thy  nothingness  away. 
Thou  fly'st !     'T  is  well.  [^Ghost  retires. 

^  I  thought  what  was  the  courage  of  a  ghost ! 
Yet,  dare  not,  on  thy  life  —  Why  say  I  that, 
Since  life  thou  hast  not.''  —  Dare  not  walk  again 
Within  these  walls,  on  pain  of  the  Red  Sea. 
For,  if  henceforth  I  ever  find  thee  here. 
As  sure,  sure  as  a  gun,  I  '11  have  thee  laid  • 


Ghost.    Were  the  Red  Sea  a  sea  of  Hollands  gin, 
The  liquor  (when  alive)  whose  very  smell 
I  did  detest  —  did  loathe  —  yet,  for  the  sake 
Of  Thomas  Thumb,  I  would  be  laid  therein. 

King.    Ha  !  said  you  ? 

Ghost.  Yes,  my  liege,  I  said  Tom  Thumb, 

Whose  father's  ghost  I  am  —  once  not  unknown 
To  mighty  Arthur.     But,  I  see,  'tis  true. 
The  dearest  friend,  when  dead,  we  all  forget. 

i  I  '11  pull  thee  backwards  by  thy  shroud  to  light. 
Or  else  I  '11  squeeze  thee,  like  a  bladder,  there, 
And  make  thee  groan  thyself  away  to  air. 

—  Conquest  of  Granada. 

Snatch  me,  ye  gods,  this  moment  into  nothing. 

—  Cyni^  the  Great. 

^  So,  art  thou  gone  ?    Thou  canst  no  conquest  boast. 
I  thought  what  was  the  courage  of  a  ghost. 

—  Conquest  of  Granada. 

King  Arthur  seems  to  be  as  brave  a  fellow  as  Almanzor,  who 
says  most  heroically. 

In  spite  of  ghosts  I  '11  on. 

[99  J 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

King.    'T  is  he  —  it  is  the  honest  Gaffer  Thumb. 
Oh !  let  me  press  thee  in  my  eager  arms, 
Thou  best  of  ghosts !  thou  something  more  than  ghost ! 

Ghost.    Would  I   were  something  more,  that   we 
again 
Might  feel  each  other  in  the  warm  embrace. 
But  now  I  have  th'  advantage  of  my  king, 
*  For  I  feel  thee,  whilst  thou  dost  not  feel  me. 

King.    But  say ,2  thou  dearest  air,  oh !  say  what 
dread. 
Important  business  sends  thee  back  to  earth? 

Ghost.    Oh  !  then  prepare  to  hear which  but 

to  hear 
Is  full  enough  to  send  thy  spirit  hence. 
Thy  subjects  up  in  arms,  by  Grizzle  led. 
Will,  ere  the  rosy-finger'd  morn  shall  ope 
The  shutters  of  the  sky,  before  the  gate 
Of  this  thy  royal  palace,  swarming  spread. 
^  So  have  I  seen  the  bees  in  clusters  swarm, 
So  have  I  seen  the  stars  in  frosty  nights, 
So  have  I  seen  the  sand  in  windy  days. 
So  have  I  seen  the  ghosts  on  Pluto's  shore. 
So  have  I  seen  the  flowers  in  spring  arise, 

1  The  ghost  of  Lausaria,  in  Cyrus,  is  a  plain  copy  of  this, 
and  is  therefore  worth  reading : 

Ah,  Cyrus ! 

Thou  may'st  as  well  grasp  water,  or  fleet  air. 

As  think  of  touching  ray  immortal  shade. 

—  Cyrus  the  Great. 

'  Thou  better  part  of  heavenly  air.  —  Conquest  of  Granada. 
*  "  A  string  of  similes,"  says  one,  "  proper  to  be  hung  up  in 
the  cabinet  of  a  prince. " 

[100] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

So  have  I  seen  the  leaves  in  autumn  fall, 
So  have  I  seen  the  fruits  in  summer  smile, 
So  have  I  seen  the  snow  in  winter  frown. 

King.    D — n   all    thou   hast    seen  !  —  dost   thou, 

beneath   the  shape 
Of  Gaffer  Thumb,  come  hither  to  abuse  me 
With  similes,  to  keep  me  on  the  rack  ? 
Hence  —  or,  by  all  the  torments  of  thy  hell, 
^  1 11   run  thee   through  the   body,  though   thou  'st 

none. 
GJinst.    Arthur,  beware  !  I  must  this  moment  hence, 
Not  frighted  by  your  voice,  but  by  the  cocks  ! 
Arthur,  beware,  beware,  beware,  beware ! 
Strive  to  avert  thy  yet  impending  fate ; 
For,  if  thou  'rt  killed  to-day, 
To-moiTow  all  thv  care  will  come  too  late. 


Scene   III.  —  King  (solus). 

King.    Oh  !  stay,  and  leave  me  not  uncertain  thus  ! 
And,  whilst  thou  tellest  me  what's  like  my  fate. 
Oh !  teach  me  how  I  may  avert  it  too  ! 
Curst  be  the  man  who  first  a  simile  made ! 
Curst  evVy  bard  who  writes !  —  So  have  I  seen 
Those  whose  comparisons  are  just  and  true, 

^  This  passage  hath  been  understood  several  different  ways 
by  the  commentators.  For  my  part,  I  find  it  difficult  to  under- 
stand it  at  all.      Mr.  Dry  den  says  — 

I  Ve  heard  something  how  two  bodies  meet, 
But  how  two  souls  join  I  know  not 

So  that,  till  the  body  of  a  spirit  be  better  understood,  it  will  be 
difficult  to  understand  how  it  is  possible  to  run  him  through  it 

[101] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

And  those  who  Hken  things  not  like  at  all. 
The  devil  is  happy  that  the  whole  creation 
Can  furnish  out  no  simile  to  his  fortune. 

Scene    IV.  —  King,  Queen. 

Queen.    What  is  the  cause,  my  Arthur,  that  you 
steal 
Thus  silently  from  Dollallolla  s  breast  ? 
Why  dost  thou  leave  me  in  the  ^  dark  alone, 
When  well  thou  know'st  I  am  afraid  of  sprites  ? 

King.    Oh,  Dollallolla  !  do  not  blame  my  love  ! 
I  hop  d  the  fumes  of  last  night's  punch  had  laid 
Thy  lovely  eyelids  fast.  —  But,  oh !  I  find 
There  is  no  power  in  drams  to  quiet  wives ; 
Each  morn,  as  the  returning  sun,  they  wake, 
And  shine  upon  their  husbands. 

Quee7i.  Think,  oh  think  ! 

What  a  surprise  it  must  be  to  the  sun. 
Rising,  to  find  the  vanished  world  away. 
What  less  can  be  the  wretched  wife's  surprise 
When,  stretching  out  her  arms  to  fold  thee  fast, 
She  found  her  useless  bolster  in  her  arms. 
2 Think,  think,  on  that.  — Oh!  think,  think  well  on 

that. 
I  do  remember  also  to  have  read 
8  In  Dryden's  Ovid's  Metamorphoses, 

1  Cydaria  is  of  the  same  fearful  temper  with  Dollallolla. 
I  never  durst  in  darkness  be  alone.  —  Indian  Emperor. 

2  Think  well  of  this,  think  that,  think  every  way.  —  Sophon. 
a  These  quotations  are  more  usual  in  the  comick  than  in  the 

traffick  writers. 

[  102  ] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

That  Jove  in  form  inanimate  did  lie 

With  beauteous  Danai? :  and,  trust  me,  love, 

^  I  fear'd  the  bolster  might  have  been  a  Jove. 

King.    Come  to  my  arms,  most   virtuous  of  thy 

sex ! 
Oh,  Dollallolla !  were  all  wives  like  thee, 
So  many  husbands  never  had  worn  horns. 
Should  Huncamunca  of  thy  worth  partake, 
Tom  Thumb  indeed,  were  blest.  —  Oh,  fatal  name. 
For  didst  thou  know  one  quarter  what  I  know. 
Then  would'st  thou  know — Alas  !  what  thou  would'st 

know  ! 
Queen.    What  can  I  gather  hence  ?    Why  dost  thou 

speak 
Like  men  who  carry  rareeshows  about  ? 
"  Now  you  shall  see,  gentlemen,  what  you  shall  see." 
O,  tell  me  more,  or  thou  hast  told  too  much. 

Scene  V.  —  King,  Queen,  Noodle. 

Nood.    Long  life  attend  your  majesties  serene, 
Great  Arthur,  king,  and  Dollallolla,  queen  ! 
Lord  Grizzle,  with  a  bold  rebellious  crowd, 
Advances  to  the  palace,  threafning  loud, 
Unless  the  princess  be  delivered  straight, 
And  the  victorious  Thumb,  without  his  pate. 
They  are  resolv'd  to  batter  down  the  gate. 

^  "  This  distress,"  says  Mr.  D ,  "  I  must  allow  to  be  ex- 
tremely beautiful,  and  tends  to  heig-liten  the  virtuous  character 
of  Dollallolla,  who  is  so  exceeding  delicate,  that  she  is  in  the 
highest  apprehension  from  the  inanimate  embrace  of  a  bolster. 
An  example  worthy  of  imitation  for  all  our  writers  of  tragedy. " 

[103] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 


Scene  VI.  —  King,  Queen,  Huncamunca,  Noodle. 

King.    See  where  the  princess  comes !     Wliere  is 
Tom  Thumb  ? 

Hunc.    Oh  !  sir,  about  an  hour  and  half  ago 
He  sallied  out  t'  encounter  with  the  foe, 
And  swore,  unless  his  fate  had  him  misled, 
From  Grizzle's  shoulders  to  cut  off  his  head, 
And  serve  "t  up  with  your  chocolate  in  bed. 

King.    'T  is  well,  I  found  one  devil  told  us  both. 
Come,  Dollallolla,  Huneamunca,  come  ; 
Within  we  'll  wait  for  the  victorious  Thumb ; 
In  peace  and  safety  we  secure  may  stay, 
While  to  his  arm  we  trust  the  bloody  fray  ; 
Though  men  and  giants  should  conspire  with  gods, 
1  He  is  alone  equal  to  all  these  odds. 

Queen.    He  is,  indeed,^  a  helmet  to  us  all ; 

1  "  Credat  Judaeus  Appella, 
Non  ego," 

says  Mr.  D .  "  For,  passing  over  the  absurdity  of  being  equal 

to  odds,  can  we  possibly  suppose  a  little  insignificant  fellow  — 
I  say  again,  a  little  insignificant  feUow  —  able  to  vie  with  a 
strength  which  all  the  Samsons  and  Herculeses  of  antiquity 
would  be  unable  to  encounter  ?  "  I  shall  refer  this  incredulous 
critick  to  Mr.  Dryden's  defence  of  his  Alraanzor  ;  and,  lest  that 
should  not  satisfy  him,  I  shall  quote  a  few  lines  from  the 
speech  of  a  much  braver  fellow  than  Almanzor,  Mr.  Johnson's 
Achilles  : 

Though  human  race  rise  in  embattled  hosts. 
To  force  her  from  my  arms  —  Oh  !  son  of  Atreus  ! 
By  that  immortiil  pow'r,  whose  deathless  spirit 
Informs  this  earth,  I  will  oppose  them  all.  —  Victim. 

2  "  I  have  heard  of  being  supported  by  a  staff,"  says  Mr.  D., 
"but  never  of  being  supported  by  a  helmet."     I  believe  he 

[104] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Wliile  he  supports  we  need  not  fear  to  fall ; 
His  arm  despatches  all  things  to  our  wish, 
And  serves  up  ev'ry  foe's  head  in  a  dish. 
Void  is  the  mistress  of  the  house  of  care, 
While  the  good  cook  presents  the  bill  of  fare  ; 
Whether  the  cod,  that  northern  king  of  fish, 
Or  duck,  or  goose,  or  pig,  adorn  the  dish. 
No  fears  the  number  of  her  guests  afford. 
But  at  her  hour  she  sees  the  dinner  on  the  board. 


Scene  VII. —  Plain.  —  Grizzle,  Foodle,   Rebels. 

Griz.    Thus  far  our  arms  with  victory  are  crown'd  ; 
For,  though  we  have  not  fought,  yet  we  have  found 
^  No  enemy  to  fight  withal. 

Food.  Yet  I, 

never  heard  of  sailing  with  wings,  which  he  may  read  in  no  less 
a  poet  than  Mr.  Dryden  : 

Unless  we  borrow  wings,  and  sail  through  air. 

—  Lave  Triumphant. 
What  will  he  say  to  a  kneeling  valley  ? 

1  '11  stand 

Like  a  safe  valley,  that  low  bends  the  knee 
To  some  aspiring  mountain.  —  Injured  Love. 

I  am  ashamed  of  so  ignorant  a  carper,  who  doth  not  know 
that  an  epithet  in  tragedy  is  very  often  no  other  than  an  exple- 
tive. Do  not  we  read  in  the  New  Sophonisba  of  "grinding 
chains,  blue  plagues,  white  occasions,  and  blue  serenity?" 
Nay,  it  is  not  the  adjective  only,  but  sometimes  half  a  sentence 
is  put  by  way  of  expletive,  as,  "  Beauty  pointed  high  with 
spirit,"  in  the  same  play  ;  and,  "  In  the  lap  of  blessing,  to  be 
most  curst,"  in  the  Revenge. 

1  A  victory  like  that  of  Almanzor  : 

Almanzor  is  victorious  without  fight.  —  Conq.  of  Granada. 

[105] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Methinks,  would  willingly  avoid  this  day, 
^  This  first  of  April,  to  engage  our  foes. 

Griz.    This  day,  of  all  the  days  of  th"*  year,  I  'd 
choose, 
For  on  this  day  my  grandmother  was  born. 
Gods  !  I  will  make  Tom  Thumb  an  April-fool ; 
2  Will  teach  his  wit  an  errand  it  ne''er  knew, 
And  send  it  post  to  the  Elysian  shades. 

Food.    I  'm  glad  to  find  our  army  is  so  stout, 
Nor  docs  it  move  my  wonder  less  than  joy. 

Griz.    ^  What  friends  we  have,  and  how  we  came 
so  strong, 
I  '11  softly  tell  you  as  we  march  along. 


Scene  VIII.  —  Thunder  and  Lightning.  —  Tom    Thumb, 
Glumdalca,  aim  suis. 

Thumb.    Oh,  Noodle !  hast  thou  seen  a  day  like  this? 
^  The  unborn  thunder  rumbles  o'er  our  heads, 
^  As  if  the  gods  meant  to  unhinge  the  world, 

1  Well  have  we  chose  an  happy  day  for  fight ; 
For  every  man,  in  course  of  time,  has  found 

Some  days  are  lucky,  some  unfortunate.  — King  Arthur. 

2  We  read  of  such  another  in  Lee  : 

Teach  his  rude  wit  a  flight  she  never  made. 

And  send  her  post  to  the  Elysian  shade.  —  Gloriana. 

8  These  lines  are  copied  verbatim  in  the  Indian  Emperor. 

*  Unborn  thunder  rolling  in   a  cloud.  —  Co7iq.  of  Granada. 

^  Were  heaven  and  earth  in  wild  confusion  hurl'd. 
Should  the  rash  gods  unhinge  the  rolling  world. 
Undaunted  would  I  tread  the  tott'ring  ball, 
Crush'd,  but  unconquered,  in  the  dreadful  fall. 

Female  Warrior. 

[106] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

And  heaven  and  earth  in  wild  confusion  hurl ; 
Yet  will  I  boldly  tread  the  tottVing  ball. 
Merl    Tom  Thumb ! 

Thumb.  What  voice  is  this  I  hear  ? 

Merl.  Tom  Thumb  ! 

Thumb.    Again  it  calls. 
Merl.  Tom  Thumb. 

Glum.  It  calls  again. 

Thumb.    Appear,  whoe'er    thou  art ;  I  fear  thee 
not. 

Merl.  Thou  hast  no  cause  to  fear  —  I  am  thy  friend. 
Merlin  by  name,  a  conjuror  by  trade, 
And  to  my  art  thou  dost  thy  being  owe. 
Thumb.    How  ! 

Merl.    Hear,   then,   the  my  stick  getting  of  Tom 
Thumb. 

1  His  father  was  a  ploughman  plain. 
His  mother  milk'd  the  cow  ; 
And  yet  the  way  to  get  a  son 
This  couple  knew  not  how, 
Until  such  time  the  good  old  man 

To  learned  Merlin  goes. 
And  there  to  him,  in  great  distress. 

In  secret  manner  shows 
How  in  his  heart  he  wish'd  to  have 

A  child,  in  time  to  come. 
To  be  his  heir,  though  it  may  be 

No  bigger  than  his  thumb  : 
Of  which  old  Merlin  was  foretold 
That  he  his  wish  should  have  ; 
And  so  a  son  of  stature  small 
The  charmer  to  him  gave. 

Thou  'st  heard  the  past  —  look  up  and  see  the  future. 


^  See  the  History  of  Tom  Thumb,  page  2. 

[107] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Thumb.  ^  Lost  in  aniazemenfs  gulf,  my  senses  sink  ; 
See  there,  Glunidalca,  see  another  ^  me ! 

Glum.  Oh,  sight  of  horror  !  see,  you  are  devoured 
By  the  expanded  jaws  of  a  red  cow. 

Merl.    Let  not  these  sights  deter  thy  noble  mind, 
^  For,  lo !  a  sight  moi'e  glorious  courts  thy  eyes. 
See  from  afar  a  theatre  arise ; 
There  ages,  yet  unborn,  shall  tribute  pay 
To  the  heroick  actions  of  this  day ; 
Then  buskin  tragedy  at  length  shall  chuse 
Thy  name  the  best  supporter  of  her  muse. 

Thumb.  Enough  :  let  every  warlike  musick  sound. 
We  fall  contented,  if  we  fall  renown'd. 

Scene  IX.  —  Lord  Grizzle,  Foodle,   Rebels,  on  one 
side  J  Tom  Thumb,  Glumdalca,  on  the  other. 

Food.    At  length  the  enemy  advances  nigh, 
*  I  hear  them  with  my  ear,  and  see  them  with  my  eye. 

1  Amazement  swallows  up  my  sense, 
And  in  the  impetuous  whirl  of  circling  fate 
Drinks  down  my  reason.  —  Persian  Princess. 

2  I  have  outfaced  myself. 

What !  am  I  two  ?     Is  there  another  me  ?  —  King  Arthur. 

8  The  character  of  Merlin  is  wonderful  throughout ;  but  most 
so  in  this  prophetick  part.  We  find  several  of  these  prophecies 
in  the  tragick  authors,  who  frequently  take  this  opportunity  to 
pay  a  compliment  to  their  country,  and  sometimes  to  their 
prince.  None  but  our  author  (who  seems  to  have  detested  the 
least  appearance  of  flattery)  would  have  past  by  such  an  op- 
portunity of  being  a  political  prophet. 

*  I  saw  the  villain,  Myron  ;  with  these  eyes  I  saw  him. 

—  Bus  iris. 

In  both  which  places  it  is  intimated  that  it  is  sometimes  pos- 
sible to  see  with  other  eyes  than  your  own. 

[108] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Griz.    Draw  all  your  swords  :  for  liberty  we  fight, 
^  And  liberty  the  mustard  is  of  life. 

Thumb.     Are   you    the    man    whom    men    famed 

Grizzle  name  ? 
Griz.    2  Are   you    the    much    more    famed    Tom 

Thumb  ? 
Thumb.    The  same. 

Griz.    Come  on  ;  our  worth  upon  ourselves  we  '11 
prove ; 
For  liberty  I  fight. 

Thumb.    And  I  for  love. 

[A   bloody  engagement  between  the  two   armies 
here ;   drums    beating,    trumpets   sounding, 
tMmder  and  lightning.      They  fight  off  and 
on  several   times.     Some  fall.     Griz.   and 
Glum,  remain. 
Glum.    Turn,  coward,  turn  ;  nor  from  a  woman  fly. 
Griz.    Away  —  thou  art  too  ignoble  for  my  arm. 
Glum.    Have  at  thy  heart. 

Griz.  Nay,  then  I  thrust  at  thine. 

Glum.    You  push  too  well ;  you  Ve  run  me  through 
the  guts, 
And  I  am  dead. 

Griz.  Then  there  's  an  end  of  one. 

1  "This  mustard,"  says  Mr.  D.,  "is  enough  to  turn  one's 
stomach.  I  would  be  glad  to  know  what  idea  the  author  had 
in  his  head  when  he  wrote  it."  This  will  be,  I  believe,  best 
explained  by  a  line  of  Mr.  Dennis  : 

And  gave  hira  liberty,  the  salt  of  life.  —  Liberty  Asserted. 

The  understanding  that  can  digest  the  one  will  not  rise  at  the 
other. 

2  Han.    Are  you  the  chief  whom  men  famed  Scipio  call  ? 
Sdp.  Are  you  the  much  more  famous  Hannibal  ? — HannibaU 

[109] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Thumb.    When  thou  art  dead,  then  there 's  an  end 
of  two, 

1  Villain.  1 

Griz.   Tom  Thumb ! 
Thumb.    Rebel! 
Griz.    Tom  Thumb ! 
Thumb.    Hell! 
Griz.    Huncamunca  ! 
Thumb.    Thou  hast  it  there. 
Griz.    Too  sure  I  feel  it. 

Thumb.    To  hell  then,  like  a  rebel  as  you  are, 
And  give  my  service  to  the  rebels  there. 

Gnz.    Triumph  not,  Thumb,  nor  think  thou  shalt 

enjoy, 
Thy  Huncamunca  undisturVd  ;  I  '11  send 

2  Mv  ghost  to  fetch  her  to  the  other  world  ; 

3  It  shall  but  bait  at  heaven,  and  then  return. 

1  Dr.  Young  seems  to  have  copied  this  engagement  in  his 

Busiris : 

Myr.    Villam  ! 

Mem.   Myron  ! 

Myr.    Rebel! 

Mem.  Myron  ! 

Myr.     HeU ! 

Mem.   Mandane  ! 

2  This  last  speech  of  my  lord  Grizzle  hath  been  of  great 
service  to  our  poets : 

I  'U  hold  it  fast 
As  life,  and  when  life  's  gone  I  '11  hold  this  last ; 
And  if  thou  tak'st  it  from  me  when  I  'm  slain, 
I  '11  send  my  ghost,  and  fetch  it  back  again. 

—  Conquest  of  Granada. 

8  My  soul  should  with  such  speed  obey. 
It  should  not  bait  at  heaven  to  stop  its  way. 
Lee  seems  to  have  had  this  last  in  his  eye  : 

'T  was  not  my  purpose,  sir,  to  tarry  there  ; 

1  would  but  go  to  heaven  to  take  the  air.  —  Oloriana. 

[110] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

^  But,  ha !  I  feel  death  rumbhng  in  my  brains  : 
^  Some  kinder  sprite  knocks  softly  at  my  soul, 
And  gently  whispers  it  to  haste  away. 

1  come,  I  come,  most  willingly  I  come. 

2  So  when  some  city  wife,  for  country  air. 
To  Hampstead  or  to  Highgate  does  repair, 
Her  to  make  haste  her  husband  does  implore, 
And  cries,  "  My  dear,  the  coach  is  at  the  door  : "" 
With  equal  wish,  desirous  to  be  gone. 

She  gets  into  the  coach,  and  then  she  cries  —  "  Drive 

on  ! 
Thumb.    With  those  last  words  *  he  vomited  his 

soul, 
Which,^  like    whipt   cream,  the  devil    will    swallow 

down. 
Bear  off  the  body,  and  cut  off  the  head. 
Which  I  will  to  the  king  in  triumph  lug. 
Rebellion  's  dead,  and  now  I  ll  go  to  breakfast. 

Scene  X.  —  King,  Queen^  Huncamunca,  Courtiers. 

King.    Open  the  prisons,  set  the  wretched  free. 
And  bid  our  treasurer  disburse  six  pounds 

1  A  rising  vapour  rumbling  in  my  brains.  —  Cleomenes. 

2  Some  kind  sprite  knocks  softly  at  my  soul, 

To  tell  me  fate 's  at  hand. 

8  Mr.  Dryden  seems  to  have  had  this  simile  in  his  eye,  when 
he  says, 

My  soul  is  packing  up,  and  just  on  wing. 

—  Conquest  of  Oranada. 

*  And  in  a  purple  vomit  pour'd  his  soul.  —  Cleomenes. 
'  The  devil  swallows  vulgar  souls 
Like  whipt  cream.  —  Sebastian. 

[Ill] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

To  pay  their  debts.  —  Let  no  one  weep  to-day. 

Come,  Dollallolla  ;  ^  curse  that  odious  name  ! 

It  is  so  long,  it  asks  an  hour  to  .peak  it. 

By  heavens  !  I  'll  change  it  into  Doll,  or  Loll, 

Or  any  other  civil  monosyllable, 

That    will    not  tire    my    tongue.  —  Come,    sit   thee 

down, 
Here  seated  let  us  view  the  dancers'  sports  ; 
Bid  'em  advance.     This  is  the  wedding-day 
Of  Princess  Huncamunca  and  Tom  Thumb  ; 
Tom  Thumb  !  who  wins  two  victories  ^  to-day, 
And  this  way  marches,  bearing  Grizzle's  head. 

[A  dance  here. 

Nood.    Oh  !  monstrous,  dreadful,  terrible,  oh  !  oh  ! 
Deaf  be  my  ears,  for  ever  blind  my  eyes  ! 
Dumb  be  my  tongue  !  feet  lame !  all  senses  lost ! 
^  Howl  wolves,  grunt  bears,  hiss  snakes,  shriek  all  ye 
ghosts ! 

King.    What  does  the  blockhead  mean  ? 

Nood.  I  mean,  my  liege, 

1  How  I  could  curse  my  name  of  Ptolemy  ! 
It  is  so  long,  it  asks  an  hour  to  write  it. 

By  heaven  !  I  '11  change  it  into  Jove  or  Mars  ! 

Or  any  other  civil  monosyllable. 

That  will  not  tire  ray  hand.  —  Cleomenes. 

2  Here  is  a  visible  conjunction  of  two  days  in  one,  by  which 
our  author  may  have  either  intended  an  emblem  of  a  wedding, 
or  to  insinuate  that  men  in  the  honey-moon  are  apt  to  imagine 
time  shorter  than  it  is.  It  brings  into  my  mind  a  passage  in 
the  comedy  called  the  Coffee-House  PoUtician  : 

We  will  celebrate  this  day  at  my  house  to-morrow. 

'  These  beautiful  phrases  are  all  to  be  found  in  one  single 
speech  of  King  Arthur,  or  the  British  Worthy. 

[112] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

^  Only  to  grace  my  tale  with  decent  horror. 

Whilst  from  my  garret,  twice  two  stories  high, 

I  lookVl  abroad  into  the  streets  below, 

I  saw  Tom  Thumb  attended  by  the  mob ; 

Twice  twenty  shoe-boys,  twice  two  dozen  links, 

Chairmen  and  porters,  hackney-coachmen,  whores  ; 

Aloft  he  bore  the  gi'izly  head  of  Grizzle  ; 

When  of  a  sudden  through  the  streets  there  came 

A  cow,  of  larger  than  the  usual  size. 

And  in  a  moment  —  guess,  oh  !  guess  the  rest !  — 

And  in  a  moment  swallow''d  up  Tom  Thumb. 

Xing.    Shut  up  again  the  prisons,  bid  my  treasurer 
Not  give    three   farthings   out  —  hang  all   the  cul- 
prits, 
Guilty  or  not  —  no  matter.  —  Ravish  virgins  : 
Go  bid  the  schoolmasters  whip  all  their  boys ! 
Let  lawyers,  parsons,  and  physicians  loose. 
To  rob,  impose  on,  and  to  kill  the  world. 

Nood.    Her  majesty  the  queen  is  in  a  swoon. 

Queen.    Not  so    much    in   a   swoon    but   I  have 
still 
Strength  to  reward  the  messenger  of  ill  news. 

\^Kills  Noodle. 
Nood.    O  !  I  am  slain. 
Cle.    My  lover's  kill'd,  I  will  revenge  him  so. 

[Kills  the  Queen. 
Hunc.    My  mamma  kilPd  !  vile  murderess,  beware. 

[Kills  Cleora. 
Dood.    This  for  an  old  grudge  to  thy  heart. 

[Kills  HUNCAMUNCA. 

1  I  was  but  teaching  him  to  grace  his  tale 
With  decent  horror.  —  Cleomenes. 
VOL.U.— 8  [113] 


THE    LIFE    AND    DEATH    OF 

Must.    And  tills 
I  drive  to  thine,  C)  Doodle !  for  a  new  one. 

[Kills  Doodle. 

K'lng.    Ha  !  murderess  vile,  take  that.  [Kills  Must. 
^  And  take  thou  this.  [Kills  himself,  and  falls. 

So  when  the  child,  whom  nurse  from  danger  guards, 

1  We  may  say  with  Dry  den. 

Death  did  at  length  so  many  slain  forget. 
And  left  the  tale,  and  took  them  by  the  great. 

I  know  of  no  tragedy  which  comes  nearer  to  this  charming  and 
bloody  catastrophe  than  Cleomenes,  where  the  curtain  covers 
five  principal  characters  dead  on  the  stage.     These  lines  too  — 

I  ask  no  questions  then,  of  who  kill'd  who? 
The  bodies  tell  the  story  as  they  he  — 

seem  to  have  belonged  more  properly  to  this  scene  of  our 
author ;  nor  can  I  help  imagining  they  were  originally  his. 
The  Rival  Ladies,  too,  seem  beholden  to  this  scene : 

We  're  now  a  chain  of  lovers  link'd  in  death  ; 
Julia  goes  first,  Gonsalvo  hangs  on  her, 
And  Angelina  hangs  upon  Gonsalvo, 
As  I  on  Angelina. 

No  scene,  I  believe,  ever  received  greater  honours  than  this. 
It  was  applauded  by  several  encores,  a  word  very  unusual  in 
tragedy.  And  it  was  very  difficult  for  the  actors  to  escape 
without  a  second  slaughter.  This  I  take  to  be  a  lively  assur- 
ance of  that  fierce  spirit  of  liberty  which  remains  among  us, 
and  which  Mr.  Dryden,  in  his  essay  on  Dramatick  Poetry,  hath 
observed  :  "  Whether  custom,"  says  he,  "  hath  so  insinuated 
itself  into  our  countrymen,  or  nature  hath  so  formed  them  to 
fierceness,  I  know  not ;  but  they  will  scarcely  suffer  combats 
and  other  objects  of  horror  to  be  taken  from  them. "  And  in- 
deed I  am  for  having  them  encouraged  in  this  martial  disposi- 
tion ;  nor  do  I  believe  our  victories  over  the  French  have  been 
owing  to  anything  more  than  to  those  bloody  spectacles  daily 
exhibited  in  our  tragedies,  of  which  the  French  stage  is  so 
intirely  clear. 

[114] 


TOM    THUMB    THE    GREAT 

Sends  Jack  for  mustard  with  a  pack  of  cards, 
Kings,  queens,  and  knaves,  throw  one  another  down, 
Till  the  whole  pack  lies  scattered  and  overthrown  ; 
So  all  our  pack  upon  the  floor  is  cast. 
And  all  I  boast  is  —  that  I  fall  the  last.  [Dies. 


[  115  J 


y' 


li^*^^- 


'•■■"■■  ■     '••„"; 


/9/  ? 


iif^iT 


^  fi^- 


P ASQUI N 

A  DRAMATICK  SATIRE  ON  THE  TIMES 

BEING    THE    REHEARSAL    OF   TWO    PLAVS :    VIZ. 
A     COMEDY      CALLED 

THE    ELECTION 

AND     A     TRAGEDY     CALLED 

THE   LIFE    AxND   DEATH    OF 
COMMON    SENSE 

First  Acted  in  April  1736 


DRAMATIS  PERSONS. 

pJian,  1^"'^°'' ^Mr.   Lacv. 

Sneerwell  (a  critick) Mr.  Machem. 

Several  Players  and  Prompter, 

PERSONS  IN  THE  COMEDY. 

Lord  Place,                  \  fMrs.  Chauke, 

Colonel  Promise,             Candidates    .     .     .  J  Mr.  Freemax, 

Sir  Henrtf  Fox-Chace,  Mr.  Topham, 

Squire  Tankard,            '  ^Mr.   Smith. 

Mayor Mr.  Jones. 

Aldermen,    Voters,  ^c. 

Mrs.  Mayoress Mrs.  Egerton. 

3/m  Mayoress Miss  J.  Jones. 

Miss  Stitch Miss  Burgess. 

Servants,  Mob,  ^c. 

PERSONS   IN  THE  TRAGEDY. 

Qmen  Common-Sense        Mrs.  Egerton. 

Queen  Ignorance Mr.  Strensham. 

Firelrrand  (Priest  of  the  Sun)       ....  Mr.  Roberts. 

Law Mr.  Yates. 

Physick Mr.  Jones. 

Ghost  of  Tragedy Mr.  Pui.len. 

Ghost  of  Comedy Mr.  Jones. 

Third  Ghost Mr.  Walhs. 

Harlequin Mr.  Pullen. 

Officer Mr.  Puelen. 

Messenger Mr.  Wai.us. 

Drummer Mr.  Lowder. 

Attendants  on  Ignorance,  Maids  of  Honour,  S[c. 

Scene,  the  Play-House. 


ACT  I 

Scene  I.  — -  Enter  several  Players. 

1  Play.    When  does  the  rehearsal  begin  ? 

2  Plcuj.  I  suppose  we  shall  hardly  rehearse  the 
comedy  this  morning,  for  the  author  was  arrested  as 
he  was  going  home  from  King's  coffee-house ;  and, 
as  I  heard  it  was  for  upward  of  four  pound,  I  sup- 
pose he  will  hardly  get  bail. 

1  Play.  Where  's  the  tragedy-author  then  ?  I  have 
a  long  part  in  both,  and  it 's  past  ten  ©""clock. 

Worn.  P.  Ay,  I  have  a  part  in  both  too  ;  I  wish 
any  one  else  had  them,  for  they  are  not  seven  lengths 
put  together.  I  think  it  is  very  hard  a  woman  of 
my  standing  should  have  a  short  part  put  upon  her. 
I  suppose  Mrs.  Merit  will  have  all  our  principal 
parts  now,  but  I  am  resolved  I  '11  advertise  against 
her.     I  '11  let  the  town  know  how  I  am  injured. 

1  Play.    Oh  !  here  comes  our  tragedy-poet. 

Enter  Fustian. 

Fust.  Gentlemen,  your  servant  ;  ladies,  yours.  I 
should  have  been  here  sooner,  but  I  have  been 
obliged,  at  their  own  requests,  to  wait  upon  some 
half-dozen  persons  of  the  first  quality  with  tickets : 
upon  my  soul  I  have  been  chid  for  putting  off  my 
play  so  long.     I  liope  you  are  all  quite  perfect,  for 

I  "9  J 


PASQUIN 

the  town  will  positively  stay  for  it  no  longer.  I 
think  I  may  very  well  put  upon  the  bills,  At  the 
paHicidur  desire  of  several  kidies  of  quality ^  the  first 

night. 

Enter  Prompter. 

Promp.  Mr.  Fustian,  we  must  defer  the  rehearsal 
of  your  tragedy,  for  the  gentleman  who  plays  the 
first  ghost  is  not  yet  up ;  and  when  he  is,  he  has  got 
such  a  churchyard-cough  he  will  not  be  heard  to  the 
middle  of  the  pit. 

1  Pla?/.  I  wish  you  could  cut  the  ghost  out,  sir, 
for  I  am  terribly  afraid  he  ""ll  be  damned  if  you 
don''t. 

Ftist.  Cut  him  out,  sir  ?  He  is  one  of  the  most 
considerable  persons  in  the  play. 

Promp.  Then,  sir,  you  must  give  the  part  to 
somebody  else ;  for  the  present  is  so  lame  he  can 
hardly  walk  the  stage. 

Fust.  Then  he  shall  be  carried,  for  no  man  in 
England  can  act  a  ghost  like  him.  Sir,  he  was  born 
a  ghost  —  he  was  made  for  the  part  —  and  the  part 
writ  for  him. 

Promp.  Well,  sir,  then  we  hope  you  will  give  us 
leave  to  rehearse  the  comedy  first. 

Fust.  Ay,  ay,  you  may  rehearse  it  first,  if  you 
please,  and  act  it  first  too.  If  it  keeps  back  mine 
above  three  nights,  I  am  mistaken.  I  don't  know 
what  friends  the  author  may  have  ;  but  if  ever  such 
stuff,  such  damned,  incoherent,  senseless  stuff,  was 
ever  brought  on  any  stage —  if  the  audience  suffer  it 
to  go  through  three  acts  —  Oh  !  he  's  here. 

[  120  ] 


PASQUIN 

Enter  Trapwit. 

Dear  Mr.  Trapwit !  your  most  humble  servant, 
sir ;  I  read  your  comedy  over  last  night,  and  a  most 
excellent  one  it  is  ;  if  it  runs  as  long  as  it  deserves 
you  will  engross  the  whole  season  to  yourself. 

Trap.  Sir,  I  am  glad  it  met  with  your  a[iproba- 
tion,  as  there  is  no  man  whose  taste  and  judgment 
I  have  a  better  opinion  of.  But  pray,  sir,  why  don't 
they  proceed  to  the  rehearsal  of  your  tragedy?  I 
assure  you,  sir,  I  had  much  difficulty  to  get  hither 
so  early. 

2  Play.    Yes,  faith,  I  believe  you  had.  \^Asklc. 

Fust.    Sir,  your  comedy  is  to  be  rehearsed  first. 

Trap.  Excuse  me,  sir,  I  know  the  deference  due 
to  tragedy  better. 

Fitst.  Sir,  I  would  not  have  you  think  I  give  up 
the  cause  of  tragedy;  but  my  ghost,  being  ill,  sir, 
cannot  get  up  without  danger,  and  I  would  not 
riscjuc  the  life  of  my  ghost  on   any  account. 

Trap.  You  are  in  the  right  on't,  sir;  for  a  ghost 
is  the  soul  of  tragedy. 

Fust.  Ay,  sir,  I  think  it  is  not  amiss  to  remind 
people  of  those  things  which  they  are  now-a-days 
too  apt  to  disbelieve ;  besides,  w'e  have  lately  had  an 
act  against  witches,  and  I  don't  question  but  shortly 
we  shall  have  one  against  ghosts.  But  come,  JMr. 
Trapwit,  as  we  are  for  this  once  to  give  the  prece- 
dence to  comedy,  e'en  let  us  begin. 

Trap.  Ay,  ay,  with  all  my  heart.  Come,  come, 
where 's  the  gentleman  who  speaks  the  prologue  ? 
This    prologue,    Mr.   Fustian,    \\as   given    me    by  a 

[121] 


PASQUIN 

friend,  who    does    not  care    to  own  it    till  he  tries 
whether  it  succeeds  or  no. 

Enter  Player /or  the  Prologue. 

Come,  sir,  make  a  very  low  bow  to  the  audience ;  and 
shew  as  much  concern  as  possible  in  your  looks. 

Prologue. 

As  crafty  lawyers,  to  acquire  applause. 

Try  various  arts  to  get  a  doubtful  cause  ; 

Or,  as  a  dancing  master  in  a  jigg. 

With  various  steps  instructs  the  dancing  prig ; 

Or  as  a  doctor  writes  you  different  bills  ; 

Or  as  a  quack  prescribes  you  different  pills  ; 

Or  as  a  fiddler  plays  more  tunes  than  one  ; 

Or  as  a  baker  bakes  more  bread  than  brown  ; 

Or  as  a  tumbler  tumbles  up  and  down  ; 

So  does  our  author,  rummaging  his  brain. 

By  various  methods  try  to  entertain  ; 

Brings  a  strange  groupe  of  characters  before  you. 

And  shews  you  here  at  once  both  Whig  and  Tory  ; 

Or  court  and  country  party  you  may  call  'em  : 

But  without  fear  and  favour  he  will  maul  'em. 

To  you,  then,  mighty  sages  of  the  pit  — 

Trap.  Oh  !  dear  sir,  seem  a  little  more  affected,  I 
beseech  you  ;  advance  to  the  front  of  the  stage, 
make  a  low  bow,  lay  your  hand  upon  your  heart, 
fetch  a  deep  sigh,  and  pull  out  your  handkerchief: 
To  you,  then,  mighty  sages  of  the  pit  — 

Prol.   To  you,  then,  mighty  sages  of  the  pit. 
Our  author  humbly  does  his  cause  submit 
He  trys  to  please  —  oh  !  take  it  not  amiss  : 
And  though  it  should  be  dull,  oh  !  do  not  hiss  ; 
Laugh,  if  you  can  —  if  you  cannot  laugh,  weep  *. 
When  you  can  wake  no  longer  —  fall  asleep. 
[  122  ] 


PASQUIN 

Trap.  Very  well  !  very  well,  sir !  You  have 
affected  me,  I  am  sure. 

Fust.  And  so  he  will  the  audience,  I  '11  answer  for 
them. 

Trap.  Oh,  sir,  you  Ve  too  good-natured  ;  but,  sir, 
I  do  assure  you  I  had  writ  a  much  better  prologue 
of  my  own  ;  but,  as  this  came  gratis,  have  reserved 
it  for  my  next  play  —  a  prologue  saved  is  a  prologue 
got,  brother  Fustian.  But  come,  where  are  your 
actors  ?  Is  Mr.  Mayor  and  the  Aldermen  at  the 
table  ? 

Promp.  Yes,  sir ;  but  they  want  wine,  and  we 
can  get  none  fi'om  the  quaker's  cellar  without  ready 
money. 

Trap.  Rat  him  !  can't  he  trust  till  the  third 
night  ?  Here,  take  sixpence,  and  fetch  two  pots  of 
porter,  put  it  into  bottles,  and  it  will  do  for  wine 
well  enough.  , 

Fust.  Ay,  faith,  and  the  wine  will  be  as  good  as 
the  wit,  I  '11  answer  for  it.  [Aside. 

Ti'ap.  Mr,  Fustian,  you  '11  observe  I  do  not  begin 
this  play,  like  most  of  our  modern  comedies,  with 
three  or  four  gentlemen  who  are  brought  on  only  to 
talk  wit ;  for,  to  tell  you  the  truth,  sir,  I  have  very 
little,  if  any,  wit  in  this  play.  No,  sir,  this  is  a  play 
consisting  of  humour,  nature,  and  simplicity.  It  is 
written,  sir,  in  the  exact  and  true  spirit  of  Moliere : 
and  this  I  will  say  for  it,  that,  except  about  a  dozen, 
or  a  score  or  so,  there  is  not  one  impure  joke  in  it. 
But  come,  clear  the  stage,  and  draw  the  back  scene  1 
Mr,  Fustian,  if  you  please  to  sit  down  by  me. 

[Mayor  and  Aldermen  discovered. 
[  123] 


PASQUIN 

Fmt.   Pray,  sir,  who  are  these  characters  ? 

Trap.  Sir^  they  are  Mr.  Mayor  of  the  town  and 
his  brethren,  consulting  about  the  election. 

Fijbst.    Are  they  all  of  a  side,  sir  ? 

Trap.  Yes,  sir,  as  yet ;  for  you  must  know,  sir, 
that  all  the  men  in  this  borough  are  very  sensible 
people,  and  have  no  party  principles  for  which  they 
cannot  give  a  good  reason;  Mr.  Mayor,  you  begin 
the  play. 

May.  Gentlemen,  I  have  summoned  you  together 
to  consider  of  proper  representatives  for  this  bor- 
ough:  you  know  the  candidates  on  the  court  side 
are  my  lord  Place  and  colonel  Promise  ;  the  country 
candidates  are  Sir  Henry  Fox-chace  and  squire  Tan- 
kard;  all  worthy  gentlemen,  and  I  wish  with  all  my 
heart  we  could  chuse  them  all  four. 

1  Aid.  But  since  we  cannot,  Mr.  Mayor,  I  think 
we  should  stand  by  our  neighbours;  gentlemen 
whose  honesty  we  are  witnesses  of,  and  whose  es- 
tates in  our  own  neighbourhood  render  'em  not 
liable  to  be  bribed. 

Fust.  This  gentleman,  Mr.  Trapwit,  does  not 
seem  so  unbiassed  in  his  principles  as  you  repre- 
sented him. 

Trap.  Pugh,  sir!  you  must  have  one  fool  in  a 
play ;  beside,  I  only  writ  him  to  set  off  the  rest. 

May.  Mr.  Alderman,  you  have  a  nari-ow  way  of 
thinking;  honesty  is  not  confined  to  a  country;  a 
man  that  lives  a  hundred  miles  off  may  be  as  honest 
as  him  who  lives  but  three. 

Aid.    Ay,  ay,  ay,  ay.  {ShaMng  their  heads. 

May.    Besides,  gentlemen,  are  we  not  more  obliged 

[124] 


PASQUIN 

to  a  foreigner  for  the  favours  he  does  us  than  to  one 
of  our  own  neighboui-s  who  has  obligations  to  us  ?  I 
beHeve,  gentlemen,  there  is  not  one  of  us  who  does 
not  eat  and  drink  with  Sir  Harry  at  least  twenty 
times  in  a  twelvemonth ;  now,  for  my  part,  I  never 
saw  or  heard  of  either  my  lord  or  the  colonel  till 
within  this  fortnight ;  and  yet  they  are  as  obliging, 
and  civil  and  familiar,  as  if  we  had  been  born  and 
bred  together. 

1  Aid.  Nay,  they  are  veiy  civil,  well-bred  men, 
that  is  the  truth  on  't ;  but  won't  they  bring  a  stand- 
ing army  upon  us  ? 

May.  Mr.  Alderman,  you  are  deceived  ;  the  coun- 
try party  will  bring  a  standing  army  upon  us ; 
whereas,  if  we  chuse  my  lord  and  the  colonel,  we 
shan't  have  a  soldier  in  town.  But,  mum !  here 
are  my  lord  and  the  colonel. 

Enter  Lord  Place  and  Col.  Promise. 

Place.  Gentlemen,  your  most  humble  servant ;  I 
have  brought  the  colonel  to  take  a  morning's  whet 
with  you. 

May.  Your  lordship  and  the  colonel  do  us  great 
honour ;  pray,  my  lord,  be  pleased  to  sit  down  ;  pray, 
colonel,  be  pleased  to  sit.     More  wine  here. 

Fnst.  I  wish,  Mr.  Trapwit,  your  actors  don't  get 
drunk  in  the  first  act. 

Trap.    Dear  sir,  don't  interrupt  the  rehearsal. 

Place.    Gentlemen,  prosj)erity  to  the  corporation  ! 

Fust.  Sir,  I  am  a  well-wisher  to  the  corporation, 
and,  if  you  please,  will  pledge  his  lordship  :  —  success 
to  your  comedy,  Mr.  Trapwit.  [^Drinks. 

[125] 


PASQUIN 

Trap.  Give  me  a  glass  —  sir,  here 's  to  your  trag- 
edy. Now,  pray,  no  more  interruption ;  for  this 
scene  is  one  continual  joke,  and  if  you  open  your 
lips  in  it  you  will  break  the  thread  of  the  jest. 

May.  My  lord,  we  are  sensible  of  your  great  power 
to  serve  this  corporation,  and  we  do  not  doubt  but 
we  shall  feel  the  effect  on 't. 

Place.  Gentlemen,  you  may  depend  on  me  ;  I  shall 
do  all  in  my  power.  I  shall  do  you  some  services 
which  are  not  proper  at  present  to  mention  to  you  ; 
in  the  meantime,  Mr.  Mayor,  give  me  leave  to 
squeeze  you  by  the  hand,  in  assurance  of  my 
sincerity. 

Trap.  You,  Mr.,  that  act  my  lord,  bribe  a  little 
more  openly,  if  you  please,  or  the  audience  will  lose 
that  joke,  and  it  is  one  of  the  strongest  in  my  whole 
play. 

Place.  Sir,  I  cannot  possibly  do  it  better  at  the 
table. 

Trap.  Then  get  all  up,  and  come  forward  to  the 
front  of  the  stage.  Now,  you  gentlemen  that  act 
the  mayor  and  aldermen,  range  yourselves  in  a  line ; 
and  you,  my  lord  and  the  colonel,  come  to  one  end 
and  bribe  away  with  right  and  left. 

Fust.    Is  this  wit,  Mr.  Trapwit  ? 

Trap.  Yes,  sir,  it  is  wit ;  and  such  wit  as  will  run 
all  over  the  kingdom. 

FiLSt.  But,  methinks,  colonel  Promise,  as  you  call 
him,  is  but  ill-named  ;  for  he  is  a  man  of  very  few 
words. 

Trap.  You  '11  be  of  another  opinion  before  the 
play  is  over ;  at  present  his  hands  are  too   full  of 

[  lf26] 


PASQUIN 

business ;  and  you  may  remember,  sir,  I  before  told 
you  this  is  none  of  your  plays  wherein  much  is  said 
and  nothing  done.     Gentlemen,  are  you  all  bribed? 

Omnes.    Yes,  sir. 

Trap.  Then,  my  lord  and  the  colonel,  you  must 
go  off,  and  make  room  for  the  other  candidates  to 
come  on  and  bribe  too. 

[Exeunt  Place  and  Promise. 

Fust.  Is  there  nothing  but  bribery  in  this  play  of 
yours,  Mr.  Trapwit.? 

Trap.  Sir,  this  play  is  an  exact  representation  of 
nature ;  I  hope  the  audience  will  date  the  time  of 
action  before  the  bill  of  bribery  and  corruption  took 
place  ;  and  then  I  believe  it  may  go  down  ;  but  now, 
Mr.  Fustian,  I  siiall  shew  you  the  art  of  a  writer, 
which  is,  to  diversify  his  matter,  and  do  the  same 
thing  several  ways.  You  must  know,  sir,  I  distin- 
guish bribery  into  two  kinds,  the  direct  and  the  in- 
direct :  the  first  you  have  seen  already ;  and  now, 
sir,  I  shall  give  you  a  small  specimen  of  the  other. 
Prompter,  call  Sir  Harry  and  the  squire.  But,  gen- 
tlemen, what  are  you  doing  ?  How  often  shall  I  tell 
you  that  the  moment  the  candidates  are  gone  out 
you  are  to  retire  to  the  table,  and  drink  and  look 
wise ;  you,  Mr.  Mayor,  ought  to  look  very  wise. 

Fust.  You  '11  take  care  he  shall  talk  foolish 
enough,  I  '11    warrant  you.  [Aside. 

Ma.jj.  Come,  here 's  a  round  to  my  lord  and  the 
colonel's  health  ;  a  Place  and  a  Promise,  I  say  ;  they 
may  talk  of  the  pride  of  courtiers,  but  I  am  sure 
I  never  had  a  civiller  squeeze  by  the  hand  in  my 
life. 

[127] 


PASQUIN 

Trap.  Ay,  you  have  squeezed  that  out  pretty  well  : 
but  shew  the  gold  at  these  words,  sir,  if  you  please. 

May.   I  have  none. 

Trap.  Pray,  Mr.  Prompter,  take  care  to  get  some 
counters  against  it  is  acted. 

Fu^t.  Ha,  ha,  ha!  upon  my  word  the  courtiers 
have  topt  their  part;  the  actor  has  outdone  the 
author ;  this  bribing  with  an  empty  hand  is  quite  in 
the  character  of  a  courtier. 

Trap.  Come,  enter  Sir  Harry  and  the  squire. 
Where  are  they .'' 

1  Play.  Sir,  Mr.  Soundwell  has  been  regularly 
summoned,  but  he  has  refused  to  act  the  part. 

Trap.    Has  he  been  writ  to  ? 

1  Play.    Yes,  sir,  and  here  \  his  answer. 

Trap.  Let  both  the  letters  be  produced  before 
the  audience.  Pray,  Mr.  Prompter,  who  shall  we 
have  to  act  the  part  ? 

1  Play.  Sir,  I  like  the  part  so  well  that  I  have 
studied  it  in  the  hope  of  some  time  playing  it. 

Trap.  You  are  an  exceeding  pretty  young  fellow, 
and  I  am  very  glad  of  the  exchange. 

Sir  H.  Halloo,  hark  forwards  ;  hark,  honest  Ned, 
good-morrow  to  you ;  how  dost,  Master  Mayor  ? 
What,  you  are  driving  it  about  merrily  this  morn- 
ing ?  Come,  come,  sit  down  ;-  the  squire  and  I  will 
take  a  pot  with  you.  Come,  Mr.  Mayor,  here 's  — 
liberty  and  property  and  no  excise. 

May.    Sir  Harry,  your  health. 

Sir  H.  What,  won't  you  pledge  me  ?  Won't  you 
drink  no  excise  ? 

May.    I  don't  love  party  healths.  Sir  Harry. 

[  128] 


PASQUIN 

All  Aid.  No,  no ;  no  party  healths,  no  party 
healths. 

Sir  H.  Say  ye  so,  gentlemen  ?  I  begin  to  smoke 
you ;  vour  pulses  have  been  felt,  I  perceive :  and 
will  you  be  bribed  to  sell  your  country  ?  Where  do 
you  think  these  courtiers  get  the  money  they  bribe 
you  with,  but  from  yourselves  ?  Do  you  think  a 
man  who  will  give  a  bribe  won't  take  one  ?  If  you 
would  be  served  faithfully,  you  must  choose  faith- 
fully, and  give  your  vote  on  no  consideration  but 
merit ;  for  my  part,  I  would  as  soon  suborn  an  evi- 
dence at  an  assize  as  a  vote  at  an  election. 

May.    I  do  believe  you.  Sir  Harry. 

Sir  H.  Mr.  Mayor,  I  hope  you  received  those 
three  bucks  I  sent  you,  and  that  they  were  good. 

May.  Sir  Harry,  I  thank  you  for  them  ;  but 't  is  so 
long  since  I  eat  them  that  I  have  forgot  the  taste. 

Sir  H.  We  'll  try  to  revive  it  —  1 11  order  you 
three  more  to-morrow  morning. 

May.  You  will  surfeit  us  with  venison  :  you  will 
indeed  ;  for  it  is  a  dry  meat,  Sir  Harry,  a  very  dry 
meat. 

Sir  H.  We  '11  find  a  way  to  moisten  it,  I  '11  war- 
rant you,  if  there  be  any  wine  in  town.  Mr.  Al- 
derman Stitch,  your  bill  is  too  reasonable;  you 
certainly  must  lose  by  it:  send  me  in  half  a  dozen 
more  greatcoats,  pray;  my  servants  are  the  dirtiest 
dogs !  Mr.  Damask,  I  believe  you  are  afraid  to 
trust  me,  by  those  few  yards  of  silk  you  sent  my 
wife  ;  she  likes  the  pattern  so  extremely  she  is  re- 
solved to  hang  her  rooms  with  it ;  pray  let  me  have 
a  hundred  yards  of  it ;  I  shall  want  more  of  you. 
V0I.U.-9  [129] 


PASQUIN 

Mr.  Timber,  and  jou,  Mr.  Iron,  I  shall  get  into 
your  books  too. 

Fust.  Would  not  that  getting  into  books  have  been 
more  in  the  character  of  the  courtier,  Mr.  Trapwit .'' 

Trap.    Go  on,  go  on,  sir. 

Sir  H.  That  gentleman  interrupts  one  so.  —  Oh, 
now  I  remember  —  Mr.  Timber,  and  you  Mr.  Iron, 
I  shall  get  into  your  books  too  ;  though  if  I  do,  I 
assure  you  I  won't  continue  in  them  long. 

Trap.  Now,  sir,  would  it  have  been  more  in  the 
character  of  a  courtier  ?  But  you  are  like  all  our 
modern  criticks,  who  damn  a  man  before  they  have 
heard  a  man  out ;  when,  if  they  would  but  sta}'  till 
the  joke  came  — 

Fust.  They  would  stay  to  hear  your  last  words,  I 
believe.  \^Aside. 

Sir  H.  For  you  must  know,  gentlemen,  that  I  in- 
tend to  pull  down  my  old  house,  and  build  a  new 
one. 

Trap.  Pray,  gentlemen,  observe  all  to  start  at 
the  word  house.  Sir  Harry,  that  last  speech  again, 
pray. 

Sir  H.    For  you,  &c. Mr.  Mayor,  I  must  have 

all  my  bricks  of  you. 

May.  And  do  you  intend  to  rebuild  your  house, 
Sir  Harry  ? 

Sir  H.    Positively. 

May.  Gentlemen,  methinks  Sir  Harry's  toast 
stands  still ;  will  nobody  drink  liberty  and  property, 
and  no  excise  .?  \_They  all  drink  a7id  huzza. 

Sir  H.  Give  me  thy  hand,  mayor  ;  I  hate  brib- 
ery and  corruption  :  if  this  corporation  will  not  suf- 

[130] 


PASQUIN 

fer  itself  to  be  bribed,  there  shall  not  be  a  poor  man 
in  it. 

May.  And  he  that  will,  deserves  to  be  poor ;  for 
my  part,  the  world  should  not  bribe  me  to  vote 
against  iiiv  conscience. 

Trap.    Do  you  take  that  joke,  sir  .? 

FuHt.    No,  faith,  sir. 

Trap.  ^Vhy,  how  can  a  man  vote  against  his  con- 
science who  has  no  conscience  at  all .? 

1  Aid-  Come,  gentlemen,  here 's  a  Fox-chace  and 
a  Tankard  ! 

Omnes.    A  Fox-chace  and  a  tankard  !  huzza  ! 

Sir  H.  Come,  let's  have  one  turn  in  the  market- 
place, and  then  wo  '11  to  dinner. 

May.  Let's  till  the  air  with  our  repeated  cries 
Of  liberty,  and  property,  and  no  excise. 

\F,:ceiunt  Mayor  and  Aldermen. 

Trap.    How  do  you  like  that  couplet,  sir  } 

Fxi.st.    Oh  !  very  fine,  sir  ! 

Trap.    This  is  the  end  of  the  first  act,  sir. 

F%i.Ht.  I  cannot  but  observe,  Mr.Trapwit,  how  nicelv 
you  have  opposed  squire  Tankard  to  colonel  Promise; 
neither  of  \\hom  have  yet  uttered  one  syllable. 

Trap.  Whv,  you  would  not  liave  every  man  a 
speaker,  would  you  ?  One  of  a  side  is  sufficient  ; 
and  let  me  tell  you,  sii-,  one  is  full  enough  to  utter 
all  that  the  party  has  to  say  for  itself. 

Fust,  Methinks,  sir,  you  sliould  let  the  audience 
know  they  can  speak,  if  it  were  but  an  ay  or  a  no. 

Trap.  Sir,  the  audience  must  know  that  alreadv  ; 
for  if  they  could  not  say  ay  and  tio,  they  would  not 
be  qualified  for  candidates. 

[131] 


PASQUIN 

Fust.  Oh  !  your  humble  servant,  I  am  answered  ; 
but  pray,  sir,  what  is  the  action  of  this  play  ? 

Trap.   The  action,  sir  ? 

FiLst.    Yes,  sir,  the  fable,  the  design  ? 

Trap.  Oh  !  you  ask  who  is  to  be  married  ?  Why, 
sir,  I  have  a  marriage  ;  I  hope  you  think  I  under- 
stand the  laws  of  comedy  better  than  to  write  with- 
out marrying  somebody. 

Fust.  But  is  that  the  main  design  to  which 
everything  conduces  ? 

Trap.    Yes,  sir. 

Fust.  Faith,  sir,  I  can't  for  the  soul  of  me  see  how 
what  has  hitherto  past  can  conduce  at  all  to  that  end. 

Trap.  You  can't  ?  indeed,  I  believe  you  can't ; 
for  that  is  the  whole  plot  of  my  play  :  and  do  you 
think  I  am  like  your  shallow  writers  of  comedy,  who 
publish  the  bans  of  marriage  between  all  the  couples 
in  their  play  in  the  first  act  ?  No,  sir,  I  defy  you 
to  guess  my  couple  till  the  thing  is  done,  slap  all  at 
once  ;  and  that  too  by  an  incident  arising  from  the 
main  business  of  the  play,  and  to  which  everything 
conduces. 

F^ist.   That  will,  indeed,  surprise  me. 

Trap.  Sir,  you  are  not  the  first  man  my  writings 
have  surprised.  But  what's  become  of  all  our 
players  ?  —  Here,  who  begins  the  second  act  ?  — 
Prompter ! 

Enter  1st  Player. 

1  Play.  Sir,  the  prompter  and  most  of  the  players 
are  drinking  tea  in  the  green-room. 

Trap.    Mr.  Fustian,  shall  we  drink  a  dish  of  tea 

[132] 


PASQUIN 

with  them  ?  Come,  sir,  as  you  have  a  part  in  my 
play,  you  shall  drink  a  dish  with  us. 

1  Play.  Sir,  I  dare  not  go  into  the  green-room  ; 
my  salary  is  not  high  enough  :  I  shall  be  forfeited  if 
I  go  in  there. 

Trap.  Pshaw  !  come  along ;  your  sister  has  merit 
enough  for  herself  and  you  too  :  if  they  forfeit  you, 
I  'U  warrant  she""!!  take  it  off  again. 


[133] 


ACT   II 

Scene  I.  —  Enter  Trapwit,  Fustian,  Prompter, 
Lord  Place,  Mrs.  and  Miss  Mayoress. 

T7-ap.  I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Fustian,  you  have  hitherto 
suspected  that  I  was  a  dabbler  in  low  comedy  ;  now, 
sir,  you  shall  see  some  scenes  of  politeness  and  fine 
convei'sation  among  the  ladies.  Come,  my  lord,  come, 
begin. 

Place.  Pray,  Mrs.  Mayoress,  what  do  you  think 
this  lace  cost  a  yard  ? 

Fust.  A  very  pretty  beginning  of  polite  conversa- 
tion, truly. 

Tj-ap.  Sir,  in  this  play  I  keep  exactly  up  to  nature, 
nor  is  there  anything  said  in  this  scene  that  I  have 
not  heard  come  out  of  the  mouths  of  the  finest  people 
of  the  age.  Sir,  this  scene  has  cost  me  ten  shillings 
in  chair-hire,  to  keep  the  best  company,  as  it  is 
called. 

Mrs.  M.  Indeed,  my  lord,  I  cannot  guess  it  at  less 
than  ten  pounds  a  yard. 

Place.    Pray,  madam,  was  you  at  the  last  ridotto .'' 

Fust.  Ridotto !  the  devil  !  a  country  mayoress 
at  a  ridotto  !  Sure,  that  is  out  of  character,  Mr. 
Trapwit ! 

Trap.  Sir,  a  conversation  of  this  nature  cannot  be 
carried   on   without    these   helps ;    besides,  sir,  this 

[134] 


PASQUIN 

country  mayoress,  as  you  call  her,  may  be  allowed  to 
know  something  of  the  town  ;  for  you  must  know, 
sir,  that  she  has  been  woman  to  a  woman  of  quality. 

Fitst.    I  am  glad  to  hear  that. 

Mrs.  M.  Oh,  my  lord  !  mention  not  those  dear 
ridottos  to  me,  who  have  been  confined  these  twelve 
long  months  in  the  country ;  where  we  have  no  en- 
tertainment but  a  set  of  hideous  strolling  players ; 
nor  have  I  seen  any  one  human  creature  till  your 
lordship  came  to  town.  Heaven  send  us  a  contro- 
verted election  !  then  I  shall  go  to  that  dear  delight- 
ful place  once  more. 

Miss  M.  Yes,  mama,  and  then  we  shall  see 
Faribelly,  the  strange  man-woman  that  they  say  is 
with  child  ;  and  the  fine  pictures  of  Merlin's  cave 
at  the  playhouses  ;  and  the  rope-dancing  and  the 
tumbling. 

Fust.  By  miss''s  taste  I  believe  she  has  been  bred 
up  under  a  woman  of  quality  too. 

Place.  I  cannot  but  with  pleasure  observe,  madam, 
the  polite  taste  miss  shows  in  her  choice  of  enter- 
tainments ;  I  dare  swear  she  will  be  much  admired 
in  the  beau  monde,  and  I  don't  question  but  will  be 
soon  taken  into  keeping  by  some  man  of  quality. 

Miss  M.    Keeping,  my  lord  ? 

Place.  Ay,  that  surprize  looks  well  enough  in  one 
so  young,  that  does  not  know  the  world  ;  but,  miss, 
every  one  now  keeps  and  is  kept ;  there  are  no  such 
things  as  marriages  now-a-days,  unless  merely  Smith- 
field  contracts,  and  that  for  the  support  of  families  ; 
but  then  the  husband  and  wife  both  take  into  keep- 
ing within  a  fortnight. 

[1135] 


PASQUIN 

Mrs.  M.  My  lord,  I  would  have  my  girl  act  like 
other  young  ladies ;  hut  she  does  not  know  any  men 
of  quality,  who  shall  introduce  her  to  ""em  ? 

Place.  That,  madam,  must  be  your  part ;  you  must 
take  a  house  and  see  company  ;  in  a  little  while  you 
may  keep  an  assembly,  and  play  at  cards  as  high  as 
you  can  ;  and  almost  all  the  money  that  is  won  must 
be  put  into  the  box,  which  you  must  call  paying  for 
the  cards ;  though  it  is  indeed  paying  for  your  candles, 
your  cloaths,  your  lodgings,  and,  in  short,  everything 
you  have.  I  know  some  persons  who  make  a  very 
considerable  figure  in  town,  whose  whole  estate  lies  in 
their  card-box. 

Mrs.  M.  And  have  I  been  so  long  contented  to  be 
the  wife  of  a  poor  country  tradesman,  when  I  might 
have  had  all  this  happiness  ? 

Fiist.  How  comes  this  lady,  Mr.  Trapwit,  consid- 
ering her  education,  to  be  so  ignorant  of  all  these 
things  ? 

Trap.  'Gad,  that  ""s  time  ;  I  had  forgot  her  educa- 
tion, faith,  when  I  writ  that  speech  ;  it 's  a  fault  I 
sometimes  fall  into — a  man  ought  to  have  the 
memory  of  a  devil  to  remember  every  little  thing ; 
but  come,  go  on,  go  on  —  1 11  alter  it  by  and  by. 

Place.  Indeed,  madam,  it  is  a  miserable  state  of 
life  ;  I  hope  we  shall  have  no  such  people  as  trades- 
men shortly  ;  I  can't  see  any  use  they  are  of :  if  I  am 
chose,  I  '11  bring  in  a  bill  to  extirpate  all  trade  out  of 
the  nation. 

Mrs.  M.  Yes,  my  lord,  that  would  do  very  well 
amongst  people  of  quality  who  don't  want  money. 

FiLst.    Again  !    Sure    Mrs.    Mayoress    knows    very 

[136] 


PASQUIN 

little  of  people  of  quality,  considering  she  has  lived 
amongst  them. 

Trap.  Lord,  sir,  you  are  so  troublesome.  Then 
she  has  not  lived  amongst  people  of  quality,  slie  has 
lived  where  I  please  ;  but  suppose  we  should  suppose 
she  had  been  woman  to  a  lady  of  quality,  may 
we  not  also  suppose  she  was  turned  away  in  a 
fortnight,  and  then  what  could  she  know,  sir.^  Go 
on,  go  on. 

Place.  Alack-a-day,  madam,  when  I  mention  trade, 
I  only  mean  low,  dull,  mechanick  trade,  such  as  the 
canaille  practise  ;  there  are  several  trades  reputable 
enough,  which  people  of  fashion  may  practise  ;  such 
as  gaming,  intriguing,  voting,  and  running  in 
debt. 

Trap.  Come,  enter  a  servant,  and  whisper  my  lord. 
[Enter  a  Servant.]  Pray,  sir,  mind  your  cue  of 
entrance.  [Exit  Servant. 

Place.  Ladies,  a  particular  affair  obliges  me  to  lose 
so  good  company.     I  am  your  most  obedient  servant. 

[Exit. 

Mrs.  M.    He  is  a  prodigious  fine  gentleman. 

Miss  M.    But  must  I  go  into  keeping,  mama? 

Mrs.  M.    Child,  you  must  do  what's  in  fashion. 

Miss  M.    But  I  have  heard  that 's  a  naughty  thing. 

Mrs.  M.  That  can't  be  if  your  betters  do  it ; 
people  are  punished  for  doing  naughty  things,  but 
people  of  quality  are  never  punished ;  therefore  they 
never  do  any  naughty  things. 

Fust.  An  admirable  syllogism,  and  quite  in  char- 
acter. 

Trap.    Pshaw,  dear  sir !     don't  trouble  me  with 

[137] 


PASQUIN 

character;  it's  a  good  thing;  and  if  it's  a  good 
thing,  what  signifies  who  says  it  ?  —  Come,  enter  the 
mayor  drunk. 

Enter  Mayor. 

May.    Liberty  and  property,  and  no  excise,  wife. 

Mrs.  M.    Ah  !  filthy  beast,  come  not  near  me. 

May.    But  I  will,  though  ;  I  am  for  liberty  and 
property  ;  I  '11  vote  for  no  courtiers,  wife. 

Mrs.  M.    Indeed,  but  you  shall,  sir. 

Miss  M.  I  hope  you  won't  vote  for  a  nasty  stink- 
ing Tory,  papa. 

May.  "What  a  pox  !  are  you  for  the  courtiers  too  ? 

Miss  M.  Yes,  I  hope  I  am  a  friend  to  my  coun- 
try ;  I  am  not  for  bringing  in  the  pope. 

May.    No,  nor  I  an  t  for  a  standing  army. 

Mrs.  M.  But  I  am  for  a  standing  army,  sir;  a 
standing  army  is  a  good  thing  :  you  pretend  to  be 
afraid  of  your  liberties  and  your  properties  —  you 
are  afraid  of  your  wives  and  daughters  :  I  love  to 
see  soldiers  in  the  town  ;  and  you  may  say  what  you 
will,  I  know  the  town  loses  nothing  by  'em. 

May.    The  women  don't,  I  believe. 

Mrs.  M.  And  I'll  have  you  know,  the  women's 
wants  shall  be  considered,  as  well  as  yours.  I  think 
my  lord  and  the  colonel  do  you  too  much  honour 
in  offering  to  represent  such  a  set  of  clownish,  dirty, 
beggarly  animals  —  Ah  !  I  wish  we  women  were  to 
choose. 

May.  Ay,  we  should  have  a  fine  set  of  members 
then,  indeed. 

Mrs.  M.    Yes,  sir,  you  would  have  none  but  pretty 

[138] 


PASQUIN 

gentlemen  —  there   should  not   be  one   man  in  the 
House  of  Commons  without  a  laced  coat. 

Miss  M.  O  la  !  What  a  delicate,  fine,  charming 
sight  that  would  be  !  Well,  I  like  a  laced  coat ; 
and  if  ever  I  am  taken  into  keeping,  it  shall  be  by 
a  man  in  a  laced  coat. 

May.  What 's  that  you  say,  minx  ?  What  \  that 
you  say  ? 

Mrs.  M.    What 's  that  to  you,  sir  ? 

May.  Why,  madam,  must  not  I  speak  to  my  own 
daughter  ? 

Airs.  M.  You  have  the  greater  obligation  to  me, 
sir,  if  she  is :  I  am  sure,  if  I  had  thought  you  \\'ould 
have  endeavoured  to  ruin  your  family,  I  would  have 
seen  you  hanged  before  you  should  have  had  any 
by  me. 

May.    I  ruin  my  family  ! 

Mrs.  M.  Yes,  I  have  been  making  your  fortune 
for  you  with  my  lord  ;  I  have  got  a  place  for  you, 
but  you  won't  accept  on 't. 

Miss  M.    You  shall  accept  on't. 

Mrs.  M.  You  shall  vote  for  my  lord  and  the 
colonel. 

Miss  M.    They  are  the  finest  men  — 

Mrs.  M.    The  prettiest  men  — 

Miss  M.    The  sweetest  men  — 

Mrs.  M.    And  you  shall  vote  for  them. 

May.    I  won't  be  bribed. 

Mrs.  M.  A  place  is  no  bribe  —  ask  the  parson  of 
the  parish  if  a  place  is  a  bribe. 

May.    What  is  the  place  ? 

Mrs.  M.   I  don't  know  what  the  place  is,  nor  mv 

[ISO] 


PASQUIN 

lord   does   not  know    what  it  is,  but  it  is   a  great 
swingeing  place. 

May.  I  will  have  the  place  first,  I  won"'t  take  a 
bribe,  I  will  have  the  place  first ;  liberty  and  prop- 
erty !  I'll  have  the  place  first.  \^Exit. 

Mrs.  M.  Come,  my  dear,  follow  me  ;  I  '11  see 
whether  he  shall  vote  according  to  his  conscience 
or  mine. 

I  '11  teach  mankind,  while  policy  they  boast, 
They  bear  the  name  of  power,  we  rule  the  roast. 

Trap.  There  ends  act  the  second.  [Exetmt  Mrs. 
and  Miss  Mayoress.]  Mr.  Fustian,  I  inculcate  a  par- 
ticular moral  at  the  end  of  every  act ;  and  therefore, 
might  have  put  a  particular  motto  before  every  one, 
as  the  author  of  Caesar  in  Egypt  has  done  :  thus, 
sir,  ray  first  act  sweetly  sings,  Bribe  all ;  bribe  all ; 
and  the  second  gives  you  to  understand  that  we  are 
all  under  petticoat-government ;  and  my  third  will 
—  but  you  shall  see.  Enter  my  lord  Place,  colonel 
Promise,  and  several  voters.  My  lord,  you  begin 
the  third  act. 

Enter  Lord  Place,  Col.  Promise,  and  several  Voters. 

Place.  Gentlemen,  be  assured  I  will  take  care  of 
you  all ;  you  shall  all  be  provided  for  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible ;  the  customs  and  the  excise  afford  a  great 
number  of  places. 

1  Voter.  Could  not  your  lordship  provide  for  me 
at  court  ? 

Place.  Nothing  easier :  what  sort  of  a  place  would 
you  like  ? 

[140] 


PASQUIN 

1  Voter.  Is  not  there  a  sort  of  employment,  sir, 
called  —  beef-eating? — If  your  lordship  please  to 
make  me  a  beef-eater  —  I  would  have  a  place  fitted 
for  my  capacity. 

Place.    Sir,  I  will  be  sure  to  remember  you. 

2  Voter.  My  lord,  I  should  like  a  place  at  court 
too ;  I  don"'t  much  care  what  it  is,  provided  I  wear 
fine  cloaths,  and  have  something  to  do  in  the  kitchen 
or  the  cellar  ;  I  own  I  should  like  the  cellar,  for  I 
am  a  devilish  lover  of  sack. 

Place.  Sack,  say  you  ?  Odso,  you  shall  be  poet- 
laureat. 

2  Voter.  Poet !  no,  my  lord,  I  am  no  poet,  I  can't 
make  verses. 

Place.  No  matter  for  that  —  you  11  be  able  to 
make  odes. 

2  Vote?:    Odes,  my  lord  !  what  are  those  ? 

Place.  Faith,  sir,  I  can't  tell  well  what  they  are  ; 
but  I  know  you  may  be  qualified  for  the  place  with- 
out being  a  poet. 

Trap.  Now,  my  lord,  do  you  file  off,  and  talk 
apart  with  your  people;  and  let  the  colonel  advance. 

Fust.  Ay,  faith,  I  think  it  is  high  time  for  the 
colonel  to  be  heard. 

Col.    Depend  upon  it,  sir ;  I  '11  serve  you. 

Fust.  Upon  my  word  the  colonel  begins  very 
well ;  but  has  not  that  been  said  already  .'' 

Trap.  Ay,  and  if  I  was  to  bring  a  hundred  cour- 
tiers into  my  play,  they  should  all  say  it —  none  of 
them  do  it. 

3  Vote?:  An  't  please  your  honour,  I  have  read  in 
a  book  called  Foci's  Journal  that  vour  honour's  men 

[  141  ] 


o 


PASQUIN 

are  to  be  made  of  wax  :  now,  sir,  I  ha\e  served  mv 
time  to  a  wax-work  maker,  and  desire  to  make  your 
honour's  regiment. 

Col.    Sir,  you  may  depend  on  me. 

3  Voter.  Are  your  officers  to  be  made  of  wax  too, 
sir  ?   because  I  w  ould  j)repare  a  finer  sort  for  them. 

Col.    No,  none  but  the  chaplain. 

3  Voter.  O  !  I  have  a  most  dehcate  piece  of  black 
wax  for  him. 

Trap.  You  see,  sir,  the  colonel  can  speak  when 
military  affairs  are  on  the  carpet.  Hitherto,  Mr. 
Fustian,  the  play  has  gone  on  in  great  tranquillity  ; 
now  you  shall  see  a  scene  of  a  more  turbulent  nature. 
Come,  enter  the  mob  of  both  sides,  and  cudgel  one 
another  off  the  stage.  Colonel,  as  your  business  is 
not  to  fight  at  present,  I  beg  you  would  go  off  be- 
fore the  battle  comes  on  ;  you  and  your  brother  can- 
didate come  into  the  middle  of  the  stage ;  you  voters 
range  yourselves  under  your  several  leaders.  \T}ie 
rrwh  attempt  to  break  in.]  Pray,  gentlemen,  keep 
back  ;  mind,  the  colonel  \s  going  off  is  the  cue  for 
the  battle  to  enter.  Now,  my  lord,  and  the  colonel, 
you  are  at  the  head  of  your  parties  —  but  hold,  hold, 
hold !  you  beef-eater,  go  you  behind  my  lord,  if  you 
please ;  and  you  soldier-maker,  come  you  behind  the 
colonel :  now,  gentlemen,  speak. 

Place  and  Col.    Gentlemen,  we'll  serve  you. 

[My  lord  and  the  colonel ^le  off  at  different 
doors ,  the  parties  folloxoing. 

Enter  mob  on  each  side  of  the  stage,  crying  out  pro- 
miscuonsbj,  Down  with  the  Rump  !     No  court- 
[  142  ] 


PASQUIN 

iers !  No  Jacobites !  Down  with  the  pope ! 
No  excise !  A  Place  and  a  Promise  !  A  T  ox- 
chace  and  a  Tankard  !  At  lad  they  fall  together 
by  the  ears,  and  cudgel  one  another  off  the  stage. 

Enter  Sir  Harry,  Squire  Tankard,  and  Mayor. 

Sir  H.  Bravely  done,  my  boys,  bravely  done ; 
faith,  our  party   has  got  the  day. 

May.  Ay,  Sir  Harry,  at  dry  blows  we  always 
come  off  w  ell ;  if  we  could  but  disband  the  army,  I 
warrant  we  carried  all  our  points.  But  faith,  sir,  I 
have  fought  a  hard  battle  on  your  account ;  the 
other  side  have  secured  my  wife ;  my  lord  has 
promised  her  a  place,  but  I  am  not  to  be  gulled 
in  that  manner :  I  may  be  taken  like  a  fish  in  the 
water,  by  a  bait;  but  not  like  the  dog  in  the  water, 
by  a  shadow. 

Sir  H.  I  know  you  are  an  honest  man,  and  love 
your  country. 

May.  Faith,  that  I  do.  Sir  Harry,  as  well  as  any 
man  ;  if  my  country  will  but  let  me  live  by  it,  that 's 
all  I  desire. 

Fiist.  Mr,  Mayor  seems  to  have  got  himself  sober 
very  suddenly. 

Trap.  Yes,  so  would  you  too,  I  believe,  if  you 
had  been  scolded  at  by  your  wife  as  long  as  he 
has  ;  but  if  you  think  that  is  not  reason  enough, 
he  may  be  drunk  still,  for  any  reason  I  see  to 
the  contrary:  pray,  sir,  act  this  scene  as  if  you  was 
drunk. 

Fmt.    Nay,  I  must  confess,  I  think  it  quite  out 

[143] 


PASQUIN 

of  character  the  mayor  to  be  once  sober  during  the 
whole  election. 

Tank,  [drunk.^  A  man  that  won't  get  drunk  for 
his  country  is  a  rascal. 

May.  So  he  is,  noble  squire;  there's  no  honesty 
in  a  man  that  won't  be  drunk  —  A  man  that  won't 
drink  is  an  enemy  to  the  trade  of  the  nation. 

Sir  H.  Those  were  glorious  days  when  honest 
English  hospitality  flourished ;  when  a  country  gen- 
tleman could  afford  to  make  his  neighbours  drunk, 
before  your  damned  French  fashions  were  brought 
over.  Why,  Mr.  Mayor,  would  you  think  it  ?  there 
are  many  of  these  courtiers  who  have  six  starved  foot- 
men behind  a  coacli,  and  not  half  a  hogshead  of  wine 
in  their  house  ;  why,  how  do  you  think  all  the  money 
is  spent  ? 

May.    Faith,  I  can't  tell. 

Sir  H.  Why,  in  houses,  pictures,  lace,  embroidery, 
nick-nacks,  Italian  singers,  and  French  tumblers ;  and 
those  who  vote  for  them  will  never  get  a  dinner  of 
them  after  the  election  is  over. 

May.  But  there  is  a  thought  comes  often  into  my 
head,  which  is  this ;  if  these  courtiers  be  turned  out, 
who  shall  succeed  them  ? 

Sir  H.    Who  ?  why,  we  ! 

Tank.    Ay,  we ! 

Sir  H.  And  then  we  may  provide  for  our  friends. 
I  love  my  country,  but  I  don't  know  why  I  may  not 
get  something  by  it  as  well  as  another ;  at  least  to 
reimburse  me.  —  And  I  do  assure  you,  though  I  have 
not  bribed  a  single  vote,  my  election  will  stand  me 
in  a  good  five  thousand  pounds. 

[  H4  ] 


PASQUIN 

TanTc.  Ay,  and  so  will  mine  me :  but  if  ever  we 
should  get  uppermost,  Sir  Harry,  I  insist  upon  im- 
mediately paying  off  the  debts  of  the  nation. 

Sir  H.  Mr.  Tankard,  that  shall  be  done  with  all 
convenient  speed. 

Tank.    I  '11  have  no  delay  in  it,  sir. 

May.  There  spoke  the  spirit  of  a  true  English- 
man :  ah !  I  love  to  hear  the  squire  speak  ;  he  will 
be  a  great  honour  to  his  country  in  foreign  parts. 

Sir  H.  Our  friends  stay  for  us  at  the  tavern ; 
we  '11  go  and  talk  more  over  a  bottle. 

Tank.  With  all  my  heart ;  but  I  will  pay  off  the 
debts  of  the  nation. 

May.    Come  to  the  tavern  then  :  —  > 

There,  while  brisk  wine  improves  our  conversation, 
We  at  our  pleasure  will  reform  the  nation. 

Trap.    There  ends  act  the  third. 

[Exeunt  Sir  Harry,  Tankard,  and  Mayor. 

FtLst.    Pray,  sir,  what 's  the  moral  of  this  act  ? 

Trap.    And  you  really  don't  know  ? 

Fv^t.    No,  really. 

Trap.  Then  I  really  will  not  tell  you  ;  but  come, 
sir,  since  you  cannot  find  that  out,  I  '11  try  whether 
you  can  find  out  the  plot;  for  now  it  is  just  going 
to  begin  to  open,  it  will  require  a  very  close  atten- 
tion, I  assure  you  ;  and  the  devil  take  me  if  I  give 
you  any  assistance. 

Fust.  Is  not  the  fourth  act  a  little  too  late  to 
open  the  plot,  Mr.  Trapwit  ? 

Trap.    Sir,  't  is  an  error  on  the  right  side  :  I  have 
known  a  plot  open  in  the  first  act,  and  the  audience, 
and  the  poet  too,  forget  it  before  the  third  was  over: 
VOL.  u.  —  10  [  14<5  ] 


PASQUIN 

now,  sir,  I  am  not  willing  to  burden  either  the  au- 
dience's memory  or  my  own ;  for  they  may  forget  all 
that  is  hitherto  past,  and  know  full  as  much  of  the 
plot  as  if  they  remembered  it. 

Promp.    Call  Mr.  Mayor,  Mrs.  Mayoress,  and  Miss. 

Enter  Mayor,  Mrs.  and  Miss  Mayoress. 

Mrs.  M.  Oh  !  have  I  found  you  at  last,  sir  ?  I 
have  been  hunting  for  you  this  hour. 

May.  Faith,  my  dear,  I  wish  you  had  found  me 
sooner ;  I  have  been  drinking  to  the  good  old  cause 
with  Sir  Harry  and  the  squire  :  you  would  have  been 
heartily  welcome  to  all  the  company. 

Mrs.  M.  Sir,  I  shall  keep  no  such  company;  I 
shall  converse  with  no  clowns  or  country  squires. 

Miss  M.  My  mama  will  converse  with  no  Jaco- 
bites. 

May.  But,  my  dear,  I  have  some  news  for  you  ;  I 
have  got  a  place  for  myself  now. 

Mrs.  M.  O  ho !  then  you  will  vote  fcr  my  lord  at 
last  ? 

May.  No,  my  dear;  Sir  Harry  is  to  give  me  a 
place. 

Mrs.  M.    A  place  in  his  dog-kennel  ? 

May.  No,  't  is  such  a  one  as  you  never  could 
have  got  me  from  my  lord  ;  I  am  to  be  made  an 
embassador. 

Mrs.  M.  What,  is  Sir  Harry  going  to  change  sides 
then,  that  he  is  to  have  all  this  interest  ? 

May.  No,  but  the  sides  are  going  to  be  changed ; 
and  Sir  Harry  is  to  be  —  I  don't  know  what  to  call 

[146] 


PASQUIN 

him,  not  I  —  some  very  great  man  ;  and  as  soon  as  he 
is  a  very  great  man  I  am  to  be  made  an  embassador 
of. 

Mrs.  M.  Made  an  ass  of !  Will  you  never  learn 
of  me  that  a  bird  in  the  hand  is  worth  two  in  the 
bush  ? 

May.  Yes,  but  I  can''t  find  that  you  had  the  bird 
in  hand  ;  if  that  had  been  the  case  I  don't  know  what 
I  might  have  done  ;  but  I  am  sure  any  man's  promise 
is  as  good  as  a  courtier's. 

Mrs.  M.  Look'ye,  Mr.  Embassador  that  is  to  be  ; 
will  you  vote  as  I  would  have  you  or  no  ?  I  am 
weary  of  arguing  with  a  fool  any  longer ;  so,  sir,  I 
tell  you  you  must  vote  for  my  lord  and  the  colonel, 
or  I  '11  make  the  house  too  hot  to  hold  you  ;  I  '11  see 
whether  my  poor  family  is  to  be  ruined  because  you 
have  whims. 

Miss  M.    I  know  he  is  a  Jacobite  in  his  heart. 

Mrs.  M.  What  signifies  what  he  is  in  his  heart  ? 
have  not  a  hundred,  whom  everybody  knows  to  be  as 
great  Jacobites  as  he,  acted  like  very  good  whigs  ? 
What  has  a  man's  heart  to  do  with  his  lips  ?  I  don't 
trouble  my  head  with  what  he  thinks  ;  I  only  desire 
him  to  vote. 

Mhss  M.  I  am  sure  mama  is  a  very  reasonable 
woman. 

Mrs.  M.  Yes,  I  am  too  reasonable  a  woman,  and 
have  used  gentle  methods  too  long ;  but  I  '11  try 
others. 

[Goes  to  a  comer  of  the  stage  and  takes  a  stick. 

May.  Nay,  then,  liberty  and  property,  and  no 
excise  !  [Runs  off. 

[  147  ] 


PASQUIN 

Mrs.  M.    I  'll  excise  you,  you  villain  ! 

[^Runs   after  him. 

Miss.  M.  Hey  ho  !  I  wish  somebody  were  here 
now.  Would  the  man  that  I  love  best  in  the  world 
were  here,  that  I  might  use  him  like  a  dog ! 

Fust.    Is  not  that  a  very  odd  wish,  Mr.  Trapwit .? 

Trap.  No,  sir  ;  don't  all  the  young  ladies  in  plays 
use  all  their  lovers  so  ?  Should  we  not  lose  half  the 
best  scenes  in  our  comedies  else  ? 

Promp.  Pray,  gentlemen,  don't  disturb  the  re- 
hearsal so  :  where  is  this  servant .?  [^Enter  Servant.] 
Why  don't  you  mind  your  cue.? 

Sew.  Oh,  ay,  dog 's  my  cue.  Madam,  here 's  Miss 
Stitch,  the  taylor's  daughter,  come  to  wait  on 
you. 

Miss  M.  Shew  her  in.  What  can  the  impertinent 
flirt  want  with  me  ?  She  knows  1  hate  her  too  for 
being  of  the  other  party  :  however,  I  '11  be  as  civil  to 
her  as  I  can.  [Eriter  Miss  Stitch.]  Dear  miss! 
your  servant ;  this  is  an  unexpected  favour. 

Miss  S.  I  am  sure,  madam,  you  have  no  reason  to 
say  so  ;  for,  though  we  are  of  different  parties,  I  have 
always  coveted  your  acquaintance.  I  can't  see  why 
people  may  not  keep  their  principles  to  themselves. 

\^Aside. 

Miss  M.  Pray,  miss,  sit  down.  Well,  have  you 
any  news  in  town  ? 

Miss  S.  I  don't  know,  my  dear,  for  I  have  not 
been  out  these  three  days  ;  and  I  have  been  employed 
all  that  time  in  reading  one  of  the  "  Craftsmen  : " 
't  is  a  very  pretty  one  ;  I  have  almost  got  it  by  heart. 

J/m  M.    [Aside.]     Saucy    flirt !    she    might   have 

[  148  ] 


PASQUIN 

spared  that  to  me  when  she  knows  that  I  hate  the 
paper. 

Miss  S.  But  I  ask  your  pardon,  my  dear  ;  I  know 
you  never  read  it. 

Miss  M.  No,  madam,  I  have  enough  to  do  to 
read  the  "  Daily  Gazetteer."  My  father  has  six  of 
'em  sent  him  every  week  for  nothing :  they  are  very 
pretty  papers,  and  I  wish  you  would  read  them, 
miss. 

Afiss  S.  Fie  upon  you  !  how  can  you  read  what 's 
writ  by  an  old  woman  ? 

Miss  M.    An  old  woman,  miss  ? 

Miss  S.  Yes,  miss,  by  Mrs.  Osborne.  Nay,  it  is 
in  vain  to  deny  it  to  me. 

Miss  M.  I  desire,  madam,  we  may  discourse  no 
longer  on  this  subject ;  for  we  shall  never  agree 
on  it. 

Miss  S.  Well,  then,  pray  let  me  ask  you  seriously 
—  are  you  thoroughly  satisfied  with  this  peace  ? 

Miss  M.  Yes,  madam,  and  I  think  you  ought  to 
be  so  too. 

Miss  S.  I  should  like  it  well  enough  if  I  were 
sure  the  queen  of  Spain  was  to  be  trusted. 

Miss  M.  [rising].  Pray  miss,  none  of  your  insinu- 
ations against  the  queen  of  Spain. 

Miss  S.    Don't  be  in  a  passion,  niadam. 

Miss  M.  Yes,  madam,  but  I  will  be  in  a  passion, 
when  the  interest  of  my  country  is  at  stake. 

Miss  S.  [rising.]  Perhaps,  madam,  I  have  a  heart 
as  warm  in  the  interest  of  my  country  as  you  can 
have ;  though  I  pay  money  for  the  papers  I  read, 
and  that's  more  than  you  can  say. 

[  149  ] 


PASQUIN 

il/m  M.  .Aliss,  miss,  my  papers  are  paid  for  too 
by  somebody,  though  I  don't  pay  for  them  ;  I  don't 
suppose  the  old  woman,  as  you  call  her,  sends  'em 
about  at  her  own  expence  ;  but  I  'd  have  you  to 
know,  miss,  I  value  my  money  as  little  as  you  in  my 
country's  cause  ;  and  rather  than  have  no  army,  I 
would  part  with  every  farthing  of  these  sixteen  shill- 
inirs  to  maintain  it. 

Miss  S.  And  if  my  sweetheart  was  to  vote  for 
the  colonel,  though  I  like  this  fan  of  all  the  fans  I 
ever  saw  in  my  life,  I  would  tear  it  all  to  pieces,  be- 
cause it  was  his  Valentine's  gift  to  me.  Oh,  heav- 
ens !  I  have  torn  my  fan  ;  I  would  not  have  torn  my 
fan  for  the  world  !  Oh  !  my  poor  dear  fan  !  I  wish 
all  parties  were  at  the  devil,  for  I  am  sure  I  shall 
never  get  a  fan  by  them. 

Miss  M.  Notwithstanding  all  you  have  said, 
madam,  I  should  be  a  brute  not  to  pity  you  under 
this  calamity  :  comfort  yourself,  child,  I  have  a  fan 
the  exact  fellow  to  it ;  if  you  bring  your  sweetheart 
over  to  vote  for  the  colonel  you  shall  have  it. 

Miss  S.    And  can   I   sell   my   country  for  a  fan  ? 
What 's  mv  country  to  me  ?     I  shall  never  get  a  fan 
by  it.     And  will  you  give  it  me  for  nothing  ? 
Miss  M.    I'll  make  you  a  free  present  of  it. 
Miss  S.    I  am  ashamed  of  your  conquest,  but  I  '11 
take  the  fan. 

Miss  M.    And  now,  my  dear,  we  '11  go  and  drink  a 
dish  of  tea  together. 

And  let  all  parties  blame  me  if  they  can. 
Who  're  bribed  by  honours  trifling  as  a  fan. 

lEa:eunt  Misses. 

r  150  ] 


PASQUIN 

Trap.  There  ends  act  the  fourth.  If  you  want  to 
know  the  moral  of  this,  the  devil  must  be  in  you. 
Faith,  this  incident  of  the  fan  struck  me  so  strongly 
that  I  was  once  going  to  call  this  comedy  by  the 
name  of  The  Fan.  But  come,  now  for  act  the 
fifth. 

Prornp.  Sir,  the  player  who  is  to  begin  it  is  just 
stepped  aside  on  some  business  ;  he  begs  you  would 
stay  a  few  minutes  for  him. 

Trap.  Come,  Fustian,  you  and  I  will  step  into 
the  green-room,  and  chat  with  the  actresses  mean- 
while. 

Fust.  But  don't  you  think  these  girls  improper 
persons  to  talk  of  parties.? 

Trap.  Sir,  I  assure  you  it  is  not  put  of  nature : 
and  I  have  often  heard  these  affairs  canvast  by  men 
who  had  not  one  whit  more  understanding  than  these 
girls.  [Exeunt. 


[151] 


ACT   III 

Scene  I.  —  Enter  Trapwit,  Fustian,  and  Sneerwell. 

Trap.    Fie  upon  't,  fie  upon  't !  make  no  excuses. 

Sneer.    Consider,  sir,  I  am  my  own  enemy. 

Trap.  I  do  consider  that  you  might  have  past  your 
time,  perhaps,  here  as  well  as  in  another  place. 

Sneer.    But  I  hope  I  have  not  transgressed  much. 

Trap.  All 's  over,  sir,  all 's  over ;  you  might  as 
well  have  stayed  away  entirely ;  the  fifth  act 's  be- 
ginning, and  the  plot's  at  an  end. 

Sneer.  What  !  ""s  the  plot  at  an  end  before  the 
fifth  act  is  begun  ? 

Trap.  No,  no,  no,  no,  I  don't  mean  at  an  end; 
but  we  are  so  far  advanced  in  it  that  it  will  be  im- 
possible for  you  to  comprehend  or  understand  any- 
thing of  it. 

FiLst.  You  have  too  mean  an  opinion  of  Mr. 
Sneerwell's  capacity ;  I  '11  engage  he  shall  under- 
stand as  much  of  it  as  I,  who  have  heard  the  other 
four. 

Trap.  Sir,  I  can't  help  your  want  of  understand- 
ing or  apprehension  ;  't  is  not  my  fault  if  you  cannot 
take  a  hint,  sir  :  would  you  have  a  catastrophe  in 
every  act  ?  Oons  and  the  devil !  have  not  I  promised 
you  you  should  know  all  by  and  by  ?  but  you  are  so 
impatient ! 

[152  J 


PASQUIN 

Fust.  I  think  you  have  no  reason  to  complain  of 
my  want  of  patience.  Mr.  Sneerwell,  be  easy  ;  't  is 
but  one  short  act  before  my  tragedy  begins  ;  and 
that  I  hope  will  make  you  amends  for  what  you  are  to 
undergo  before  it.    Trapwit,  I  wish  you  would  begin. 

Trap.  I  wish  so  too.  Come,  prompter!  are  the 
members  in  their  chairs .? 

Promp.    Yes,  sir. 

Trap.  Then  carry  them  over  the  stage  :  but,  hold, 
hold,  hold  !  where  is  the  woman  to  strew  the  flowers  .'* 
[The  members  are  carried  over  the  stage.^  Halloo, 
mob,  halloo,  halloo !  Oons,  Mr.  Prompter !  you 
must  get  more  mob  to  halloo,  or  these  gentlemen 
will  never  be  believed  to  have  had  the    majority. 

Promp.  Sir,  I  can  get  no  more  mob;  all  the  rest  of 
the  mob  are  gone  to  St.  James's-park  to  see  the  show. 

Sneer.  Pray,  Mr.  Trapwit,  who  are  these  gentle- 
men in  the  chairs  ? 

Trap.  Ay,  sir,  this  is  your  staying  away  so  long ; 
if  you  had  been  here  the  first  four  acts  you  would 
have  known  who  they  were. 

Fust.  Dear  Sneerwell,  ask  him  no  more  questions; 
if  you  enquire  into  every  absurdity  you  see  we  shall 
have  no  tragedy  to-day. 

Trap.    Come,  Mr.  Mayor  and  Mrs.  Mayoress. 

Enter  Mayor  and  Mrs.  Mayoress. 

May.  So,  now  you  have  undone  yourself  your 
own  way  ;  you  have  made  me  vote  against  my  con- 
science and  interest  too,  and  now  I  have  lost  both 
parties. 

[Vo'6] 


PASQUIN 

Mrs.  M.    How  have  you  lost  btilh  parties  ? 

May.  Why,  my  lord  will  never  remember  my 
voting  for  him,  now  he  has  lost  the  day;  and  Sir 
Han-y,  who  has  won  it,  will  never  forgive  my  voting 
against  him  :  let  which  side  will  be  uppermost,  I 
shall  have  no  place  till  the  next  election. 

Mrs.  M.  It  will  be  your  own  fault  then,  sir ;  for 
you  have  it  now  in  your  power  to  oblige  my  lord 
more  than  ever ;  go  and  return  my  lord  and  the 
colonel  as  duly  elected,  and  I  warrant  you  I  do  your 
business  with  him  yet. 

May.  Return  'em,  my  dear?  Why,  there  was  a 
majority  of  two  or  three  score  against  'em. 

Mrs.  M.  A  fig  for  a  majority  of  two  or  three 
score  !  if  there  had  been  a  majority  of  as  many  hun- 
dreds, you  '11  never  be  called  to  an  account  for  re- 
turning them  ;  and  when  you  have  returned  'em, 
you  '11  have  done  all  in  your  power.  How  can  you 
expect  that  great  men  should  do  anything  to  serve 
you  if  you  stick  at  anything  to  serve  them  ? 

May.  My  conscience  boggles  at  this  thing  —  but 
yet  it  is  impossible  I  should  ever  get  anything  by 
the  other  side. 

Mrs.  M.  Ay,  let  that  satisfy  your  conscience,  that 
it  is  the  only  way  to  get  anything. 

May.    Truly,  I  think  it  is. 

Sjieer.  I  think,  Mr.  Trapwit,  interest  would  be  a 
better  word  there  than  conscience. 

Trap.  Ay,  interest  or  conscience,  they  are  words 
of  the  same  meaning ;  but  I  think  conscience  rather 
politer  of  the  two,  and  most  used  at  court. 

Mrs.  M.    Besides,    it    will    do   a    service  to   your 

[  154  ] 


PASQUIN 

town,  for  h;Jf  of  them  must  be  carried  to  London  at 
the  candidates'  expence  ;  and  I  dare  swear  there  is 
not  one  of  them,  whatever  side  he  votes  of,  but 
would  be  glad  to  put  the  candidate  to  as  much  ex- 
pence  as  he  can  in  an  honest  way. 

[E.vit  Mayor. 

Enter  Miss  Mayoress,  crying. 

Miss  M.  Oh,  mama,  I  have  grieved  myself  to 
death  at  the  court  party's  losing  the  day  ;  for  if  tlie 
others  should  have  a  majority  in  the  house,  what 
would  become  of  us  ?  alas,  we  should  not  go  to 
London ! 

Mrs.  M.  Dry  up  your  tears,  my  dear,  all  will  be 
well  ;  your  father  shall  return  my  lord  and  the 
colonel,  and  we  shall  have  a  controverted  election, 
and  we  will  go  to  London,   my  dear. 

Miss  M.  Shall  we  go  to  London  ?  then  I  am  easy  ; 
but  if  we  had  staid  here  I  should  have  broke  my  heart 
for  the  love  of  my  country.  —  Since  my  father  returns 
them,  I  ho{)e  justice  will  find  some  friends  above, 
where  people  have  sense  enough  to  know  the  right 
side  from  the  left ;  however,  happen  what  will,  there 
is  some  consolation  in  o-oing  to  London. 

Mrs.  M.  But  I  hope  you  have  considered  well  what 
my  lord  told  you,  that  you  will  not  scruple  going  into 
keeping :  perhaps,  you  will  have  it  in  your  power  to 
serve  your  family,  and  it  would  be  a  great  sin  not  to 
do  all  you  can  for  your  family. 

Miss  M.  I  have  dreamt  of  nothing  but  coaches 
and  six,  and  balls,  and  treats,  and  shows,  and  mas- 
querades ever  since. 

[  155  ] 


PASQUIN 

Fust.  Dreamt,  sir  ?  why,  I  thought  the  time  of 
your  comedy  had  been  confined  to  the  same  day,  Mr. 
Trap  wit  ? 

Trap.  No,  sir,  it  is  not ;  but  suppose  it  was,  might 
she  not  have  taken  an  afternoon's  nap  ? 

Sneer.    Ay,  or  dreamt  waking,  as  several  people  do. 

Enter  Lord  Place  and  Col.  Promise. 

Place.  Madam,  I  am  come  to  take  my  leave  of 
you;  I  am  very  sensible  of  my  many  obligations  to 
you,  and  shall  remember  them  till  the  next  election, 
when  I  will  wait  on  you  again ;  nay,  I  don't  question 
but  we  shall  carry  our  point  yet,  though  they  have 
given  us  the  trouble  of  a  petition. 

Mrs.  M.  No,  no,  my  lord,  you  are  not  yet  reduced 
to  that ;  I  have  prevailed  on  my  husband  to  return 
you  and  the  colonel. 

Place.    To  return  us,  madam  ? 

Mrs.  M.  Yes,  my  lord,  as  duly  elected ;  and  when 
we  have  returned  you  so,  it  will  be  your  own  fault  if 
you  don't  prove  yourself  so. 

Place.  Madam,  this  news  has  so  transported  my 
spirits,  that  I  fear  some  ill  effect  unless  you  instantly 
give  me  a  dram. 

Mis.  M.  If  your  lordship  please  to  walk  with  me 
into  my  closet,  I  '11  equip  your  lordship.  \^Exit. 

Trap.    How  do  you  like  that  dram,  sir.'* 

Sneer.    Oh  !   most  excellent ! 

Fust.    I  can't  say  so,  unless  I  tasted  it. 

Trap.  Faith,  sir,  if  it  had  not  been  for  that  dram 
my  play  had  been  at  an  end. 

[156] 


PASQUIN 

Fust.    The  devil  take  the  dram  with  all  my  heart ! 

Trap.  Now,  Mr.  Fustian,  the  plot,  which  has 
hitherto  been  only  carried  on  by  hints,  and  opened 
itself  like  the  infant  spring  by  small  and  impercep- 
tible degrees  to  the  audience,  will  display  itself  like 
a  ripe  matron,  in  its  full  summer's  bloom  ;  and  can- 
not, I  think,  fail  with  its  attractive  charms,  like  a 
loadstone,  to  catch  the  admiration  of  every  one  like 
a  trap,  and  raise  an  applause  like  thunder,  till  it 
makes  the  whole  house  like  a  hurricane.  I  must 
desire  a  strict  silence  through  this  whole  scene. 
Colonel,  stand  you  still  on  this  side  of  the  stage  ; 
and,  miss,  do  you  stand  on  the  opposite.  —  There, 
now  look  at  each  other.  \^A  long  silence  here. 

Fust.  Pray,  Mr.  Trapwit,  is  nobody  ever  to  speak 
again  ? 

Trap.  Oh  !  the  devil !  You  have  interiTipted  the 
scene ;  after  all  my  precautions  the  scene  \s  desti'oyed  ; 
the  best  scene  of  silence  that  ever  was  penned  by  man. 
Come,  come,  you  may  speak  now  ;  you  may  speak  as 
fast  as  you  please. 

Col.  Madam,  the  army  is  very  much  obliged  to 
you  for  the  zeal  you  shew  for  it ;  me,  it  has  made 
your  slave  for  ever  ;  nor  can  I  ever  think  of  being 
happy  unless   you  consent  to  marry  me. 

Miss  M.  Ha !  and  can  you  be  so  generous  to  for- 
give all  my  ill  usage  of  you  ? 

Fust.  What  ill  usage,  Mr.  Trapwit  ?  For,  if  I 
mistake  not,  this  is  the  first  time  these  lovers  spoke 
to  one  another. 

Trap.    What  ill  usage,  sir  ?  a  great  deal,  sir. 

Fust.    When,  sir  ?  where,  sir  ? 

[157] 


PASQUIN 

Trap.  Why,  beliind  the  scenes,  sir.  What,  would 
you  have  everything  brought  upon  the  stage  ?  I 
intend  to  bring  ours  to  the  dignity  of  the  French 
stage ;  and  I  have  Horace's  advice  on  my  side.  We 
have  many  things  both  said  and  done  in  our  come- 
dies which  might  be  better  performed  behind  the 
scenes :  the  French,  you  know,  banish  all  cruelty 
from  their  stage  ;  and  I  don't  see  why  we  should  bring 
on  a  lady  in  ours  practising  all  manner  of  cruelty 
upon  her  lover  :  besides,  sir,  we  do  not  only  produce 
it,  but  encourage  it ;  for  I  could  name  you  some 
comedies,  if  I  would,  where  a  woman  is  brought  in 
for  four  acts  together,  behaving  to  a  worthy  man  in 
a  manner  for  which  she  almost  deserves  to  be  hanged ; 
and  in  the  fifth,  forsooth,  she  is  rewarded  with  him 
for  a  husband :  now,  sir,  as  I  know  this  hits  some 
tastes,  and  am  willing  to  oblige  all,  I  have  given 
every  lady  a  latitude  of  thinking  mine  has  behaved 
in  whatever  manner  she  would  have  her. 

Sneer.  Well  said,  my  little  Trap  !  but  pray  let  us 
have  the  scene. 

Trap.    Go  on,  miss,  if  you  please. 

Miss  M.  I  have  struggled  with  myself  to  put  you 
to  so  many  trials  of  your  constancy  ;  nay,  perhaps 
have  indulged  myself  a  little  too  far  in  the  innocent 
liberties  of  abusing  you,  tormenting  you,  coquetting, 
lying,  and  jilting ;  which  as  you  are  so  good  to 
forgive,  I  do  faithfully  promise  to  make  you  all  the 
amends  in  my  power,  bv  making  you  a  good  wife. 

Trap.  That  single  promise,  sir,  is  more  than  any 
of  my  brother  authors  had  ever  the  grace  to  put 
into  the  mouth  of  any  of  their  fine  ladies  yet ;  so 

[158] 


PASQUIN 

that  the  hero  of  a  comedy  is  left  in  a  much  worse 
condition  than  the  villain  of  a  tragedy,  and  I  would 
choose  rather  to  be  hanged  with  the  one  than  mar- 
ried with  the  other. 

Sneer.  Faith,  Trapwit,  without  a  jest,  thou  art 
in  the  right  on't. 

Fust.    Go  on,  go  on,  dear  sir,  go  on. 

Col.  And  can  you  be  so  generous,  so  great,  so 
good  ?  Oh  !  load  not  thus  my  heart  with  obliga- 
tions, lest  it  sink  beneath  its  burden  !  Oh  !  could  I 
live  a  hundred  thousand  years,  I  never  could  repay 
the  bounty  of  that  last  speech  !  Oh  !  my  paradise  ! 
Eternal  honey  drops  from  off  your  tongue  ! 
And  when  you  spoke,  then  Farinelli  sung ! 

Trap.  Open  your  arms,  miss,  if  you  please ;  re- 
member you  are  no  coquet  now :  how  pretty  this 
looks  !  don't  it  ?  [Mimicking  her.'\  Let  me  have  one 
of  your  best  embraces,  I  desire  :  do  it  once  more, 
pray  —  There,  there,  that 's  pretty  well ;  you  must 
practise  this  behind  the  scenes. 

[Exeimt  Miss  M.  and  Col. 

Sneer.  Are  they  gone  to  practice,  now,  Mr. 
Trapwit  ? 

Trap.  YouVe  a  joker,  Mr.  Sneerwell ;  you're  a 
joker. 

Enter  Lord  Place,  Mayor,  and  Mrs.  Mayoress. 

Place.  I  return  you  my  hearty  thanks,  Mr.  Mayor, 
for  this  return  !  and  in  return  of  the  favour,  I  will 
certainly  do  you  a  very  good  turn  very  shortly. 

Fust.  I  wish  the  audience  don't  do  you  an  ill 
turn,  Mr.  Trapwit,  for  that  last  speech. 

[  159  J 


PASQUIN 

Sneer.  Yes,  faith,  I  think  I  would  cut  out  a  turn 
or  two. 

Trap.  Sir,  I  ll  sooner  cut  off  an  ear  or  two :  sir, 
that 's  the  very  best  thing  in  the  whole  play.  Come, 
enter  the  colonel  and  Miss married. 

Sneer.  Upon  my  word,  they  have  been  very  ex- 
peditious. 

Trap.  Yes,  sir ;  the  parson  understands  his  busi- 
ness, he  has  plyed  several  years  at  the  Fleet. 

Enter  Col.  Promise  and  Miss  Mayoress. 

Col.  and  Miss  (kneeling).  Sir,  and  madam,  your 
blessing. 

Mrs.  M.  and  May.    Ha  ! 

Col.  Your  daughter,  sir  and  madam,  has  made 
me  the  happiest  of  mankind. 

Mrs.  M.  Colonel,  you  know  you  might  have  had 
my  consent ;  why  did  you  choose  to  marry  without 
it  ?     However,  I  give  you  both  my  blessing. 

May.    And  so  do  I. 

Place.  Then  call  my  brother  candidates  ;  we  will 
spend  this  night  in  feast  and  merriment. 

Fust.  What  has  made  these  two  parties  so  sud- 
denly friends,  Mr.  Trapwit  ? 

Trap.  What?  why  the  marriage,  sir;  the  usual 
reconciler  at  the  end  of  a  comedy.  I  would  not 
have  concluded  without  every  person  on  the  stage 
for  the  world. 

Place.    Well,  colonel,  I  see  you  are  setting  out  for 
life,  and  so  I  wish  you  a  good  journey. 
And  you,  gallants,  from  what  you  Ve  seen  to-night, 

[160] 


PASQUIN 

If  you  are  wrong,  may  set  your  judgments  right ; 

Nor,  like  our  misset*,  about  bribing  quarrel^ 

When  better  herring  is  in  neither  barrel. 

[Ma7ient  Fust.,  Trap.,  and  Sneer. 

Trap.    Thus  ends  my  play,  sir. 

Fiisf.  Pray,  Mr.  Trapwit,  how  has  the  former 
part  of  it  conduced  to  this   marriage  ? 

Trap.  Why,  sir,  do  you  think  the  colonel  would 
ever  have  had  her  but  on  the  prospect  her  father  has 
from  this  election  ? 

Sneer.  Ay,  or  to  strengthen  his  interest  with  the 
returning  officer  ? 

Trap.    Ay,  sir,  I  was  just  going  to  say  so. 

Sneer.    But  where 's  your  epilogue  ? 

Trap.  Faith,  sir,  I  can't  tell  what  I  shall  do  for 
an  epilogue. 

Sneer.    What !  have  you  writ  none  ? 

Trap.  Yes,  faith,  I  have  writ  one,  but 

Sneer.    But  what  ? 

Trap.  Faith,  sir,  I  can  get  no  one  to  speak  it ; 
the  actresses  are  so  damned  difficult  to  please.  When 
first  I  writ  it  they  would  not  speak  it,  because  there 
were  not  double-entendres  enough  in  it ;  upon  which 
I  went  to  Mr.  Watt's  and  borrowed  all  his  plays ; 
went  home,  read  over  all  the  epilogues,  and  crammed 
it  as  full  as  possible ;  and  now,  forsooth,  it  has  too 
many  in  it.  Oons  !  I  think  wc  must  get  a  pair  of 
scales  and  weigh  out  a  sufficient  quantity  of  that 
same. 

Fust.  Come,  come,  Mr.  Trapwit,  clear  the  stage, 
if  you  please. 

Trap.    With  all  my  heart ;  for  I  have  overstayed 
VOL.  II.  —  11  [  161  ] 


PASQUIN 

my  time  already  ;  I  am  to  read  my  play  to-day  to 
six  different  companies  of  quality. 

FiLst.  You'll  stay  and  see  the  tragedy  rehearsed, 
I  hope  ? 

Trap.  Faith,  sir,  it  is  my  great  misfortune  that  I 
can't ;  I  deny  myself  a  great  pleasure,  but  cannot 
possibly  stay  —  to  hear  such  damn'd  stuff  as  I  know 
it  must  be.  \Aside. 

Sneer.  Nay,  dear  Trapwit,  you  shall  not  go. 
Consider,  your  advice  may  be  of  some  service  to  Mr. 
Fustian  ;  besides,  he  has  stayed  the  rehearsal  of  your 
play 

Fust.  Yes,  I  have  —  and  kept  myself  awake  with 
much  difficulty.  \^Aside. 

Trap.  Nay,  nay,  you  know  I  can't  refuse  you  — 
though  I  shall  certainly  fall  asleep  in  the  first  act. 

YAskle. 

Sneer.  If  you  '11  let  me  know  who  your  people  of 
quality  are,  I  '11  endeavour  to  bring  you  off. 

Trap.  No,  no,  hang  me  if  I  tell  you,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 
I  know  you  too  well.  —  But  prithee,  now,  tell  me, 
Fustian,  how  dost  thou  like  my  play ,?  dost  think  it 
will  do  ? 

Fust.    'T  is  my  opinion  it  will. 

Trap.  Give  me  a  guinea,  and  I  '11  give  you  a 
crown  a  night  as  long  as   it  runs. 

Sneer.  That 's  laying  against  yourself,  Mr.  Trap- 
wit. 

Trap.    I  love  a  hedge,  sir. 

Fu^t.  Before  the  rehearsal  begins,  gentlemen,  I 
must  beg  your  opinion  of  my  dedication :  you  know, 
a  dedication    is   generally   a   bill   di'awn    for   value 

[162] 


PASQUIN 

therein  contained  ;  which  value  is  a  set  of  nauseous 
fulsome  compliments  which  my  soul  abhors  and 
scorns  ;  for  I  mortally  hate  flattery,  and  therefor© 
have  carefully  avoided  it. 

Sneer.  Yes,  faith,  a  dedication  without  flattery 
will  be  worth  the  seeing. 

Fust.  Well,  sir,  you  shall  see  it.  Read  it,  dear 
Trapwit ;  I  hate  to  read  my  own  works. 

Trai).  [Reads.'\  "  My  lord,  at  a  time  when  non- 
sense, dulness,  lewdness,  and  all  manner  of  profane- 
ness  and  immorality  are  daily  practised  on  the  stage, 
I  have  prevailed  on  my  modesty  to  offer  to  your 
lordship's  protection  a  piece  which,  if  it  has  no 
merit  to  recommend  it,  has  at  least  no  demerit  to 
disgrace  it ;  nor  do  I  question  at  this,  when  every 
one  else  is  dull,  you  will  be  pleased  to  find  one  ex- 
ception to  the  number. 

"  I  cannot  indeed  help  assuming  to  myself  some 
little  merit  from  the  applause  which  the  town  has 
so  universally  conferred  upon   me," 

Fust.  That  you  know,  Mr.  Sneerwell,  may  be 
omitted,  if  it  should  meet  with  any  ill-natured  op- 
position ;  for  which  reason,  I  shall  not  print  off  my 
dedication  till  after  the  play  is  acted. 

Trap.  l^Reads.^  "  I  might  here  indulge  myself  with 
a  delineation  of  your  lordship's  character ;  but  as  I 
abhor  the  least  imputation  of  flattery,  and  as  I  am 
certain  your  lordsliip  is  the  only  person  in  this  nation 
that  does  not  love  to  hear  your  praises,  I  shall  be 
silent  —  only  this  give  me  leave  to  say,  That  you 
have  more  wit,  sense,  learning,  honour,  and  hun)an- 
ity,  than  all  mankind  {)ut  together  ;  and  your  person 

[  16;3  J 


PASQUIN 

comprehends  in  it  everything  that  is  beautiful ;  your 
air  is  everything  that  is  graceful,  your  look  every- 
thing that  is  majestic,  and  your  mind  is  a  store- 
house where  every  virtue  and  every  perfection  are 
lodged :  to  pass  by  your  generosity,  which  is  so 
great,  so  glorious,  so  diffusive,  that  like  the  sun  it 
eclipses,  and  makes  stars  of  all  your  other  virtues  —  I 
could  say  more "' 

Sneer.    Faith,  sir,  that's  more  than  I  could. 

Trap.  "  But  shall  commit  a  violence  upon  myself, 
and  conclude  with  assuring  your  lordship,  that  I  am, 
my  lord,  your  lordship''s  most  obedient,  most  de- 
voted, most  obsequious,  and  most  obliged  humble 
servant." 

Fust.  There  you  see  it,  sir,  concise,  and  not  ful- 
some. 

Sneer.  Very  true,  sir,  if  you  had  said  less  it  would 
not  have  done. 

Fust.  No,  I  think  less  would  have  been  downright 
rude,  considering  it  was  to  a  person  of  the  first 
quality. 

Sneer.    Prithee,  Trapwit,  let's  see  yours. 

Trap.    I  have  none,  sir 

FvM.    How,  sir  ?  no  dedication  ? 

Trap.  No,  sir,  for  I  have  dedicated  so  many  plays, 
and  received  nothing  for  them,  that  I  am  resolved  to 
trust  no  more  ;  I  '11  let  no  more  flattery  go  out  of  my 
shop  without  being  paid  beforehand. 

Fust.  Sir,  flattery  is  so  cheap,  and  every  man  of 
quality  keeps  so  many  flatterers  about  him,  that  egad 
our  trade  is  quite  spoil'd ;  but  if  I  am  not  paid  for 
this  dedication,  the  next  I  write  shall  be  a  satirical 

[  164  ] 


PASQUIN 

one ;  if  they  won''t  pay  me  for  opening  my  mouth, 
I  '11  make  them  pay  me  for  shutting  it.  But  since 
you  have  been  so  kind,  gentlemen,  to  like  my  dedi- 
cation, I  '11  venture  to  let  you  see  my  prologue.  Sir, 
I  beg  the  favour  of  you  to  repeat  the  prologue,  if 
you  are  perfect  in  it.  [To  a  Player. 

Plai/.    Sir,  I  '11  do  it  to  the  best  of  my  power. 

J^ust.   This  prologue  was  writ  by  a  friend. 

Prologue. 

When  Death's  sharp  scythe  has  mowed  the  hero  down, 
The  muse  again  awakes  him  to  renown  ; 
She  tells  proud  Fate  that  all  her  darts  are  vain, 
And  bids  the  hero  live  and  strut  about  again  : 
Nor  is  she  only  able  to  restore. 
But  she  can  make  what  ne'er  was  made  before  ; 
Can  search  the  realms  of  Fancy,  and  create 
What  never  came  into  the  brain  of  Fate. 

Forth  from  these  realms,  to  entertain  to-night, 
She  brings  imaginary  kings  and  queens  to  Hght, 
Bids  Common  Sense  in  person  mount  the  stage. 
And  Harlequin  to  storm  in  tragick  rage. 
Britons,  attend  ;  and  decent  reverence  shew 
To  her,  who  made  th'  Athenian  bosoms  glow  ; 
Whom  the  undaunted  Romans  could  revere. 
And  who  in  Shakspeare's  time  was  worshipp'd  here  : 
If  none  of  these  can  her  success  presage,  ^ 

Your  hearts  at  least  a  wonder  may  engage  :  v 

Oh  !  love  her  like  her  sister  monsters  of  the  age.  ) 

Sneer.  Faith,  sir,  your  friend  has  writ  a  very  fine 
prologue. 

Fust.  Do  you  think  so  ?  Why  then,  sir,  I  must 
assure  you,  that  friend  is  no  other  than  myself.  But 
come,  now  for  the  tragedy.     Gentlemen,  I  must  desire 

[165] 


PASQUIN 

you  all  to  clear  the  stage,  for  I  have  several  scenes 
which  I  could  wish  it  was  as  big  again  for. 

2d  Player  enters  and  whispers  Trap  wit. 

2  Play.  Sir,  a  gentlewoman  desires  to  speak  to  you. 

Trap.    Is  she  in  a  chair  ? 

2  Pkuj.  No,  sir,  she  is  in  a  riding-hood,  and  says 
she  has  brought  you  a  clean  shirt.  {Exit. 

Trap.  I  '11  come  to  her.  —  Mr.  Fustian,  you  must 
excuse  me  a  moment ;  a  lady  of  quality  hath  sent  to 
take  some  boxes.  {Exit. 

Promp.  Common  Sense,  sir,  desires  to  speak  with 
you  in  the  green-room. 

Fust.    I  ""ll  wait  upon  her. 

Sneer.  You  ought,  for  it  is  the  first  message,  I  be- 
lieve, you  ever  received  from  her.  {Aside. 

{Exeunt  Fus.  and  Sneer. 

Enter  a  Dancer. 

Dane.  Look'e,  Mr.  Prompter,  I  expect  to  dance 
first  goddess  ;  I  will  not  dance  under  Miss  Minuet ;  I 
am  sure  I  shew  more  to  the  audience  than  any  lady 
upon  the  stage. 

Promp.    Madam,  it  is  not  my  business. 

Da7ic.  I  don't  know  whose  business  it  is;  but  I 
think  the  town  ought  to  be  the  judges  of  a  dancer's 
merit ;  I  am  sure  they  are  on  my  side ;  and  if  I  am 
not  used  better,  I  '11  go  to  France  ;  for  now  we  have 
got  all  their  dancers  away,  perhaps  they  may  be  glad 
of  some  of  ours. 

Promp.    Heyday  !  what 's  the  matter  ? 

{A  noise  within. 

[166] 


PASQUIN 

Enter  Player. 

Play.  The  author  and  Common  Sense  are  quarrel- 
ling in  the  green-room, 

Promp.  Nay,  then,  that  ""s  better  worth  seeing  than 
anything  in  the  play.  {^Extt  Promp. 

Dane.  Hang  this  play,  and  all  plays  ;  the  dancers 
are  the  only  people  that  support  the  house  ;  if  it 
were  not  for  us  they  might  act  their  Shakspeare  to 
empty  benches. 


[167] 


ACT   IV 

Scene  I.       Enter  Fustian  and  Sneerwell. 

Fiu^t.  The«e  little  thing.-*,  Mr.  Sneerwell,  will  some- 
times happen.  Indeed  a  poet  undergoes  a  great  deal 
before  he  comes  to  his  third  night ;  first  with  the 
muses,  who  are  humorous  ladies,  and  must  be  attended; 
for  if  they  take  it  into  their  head  at  any  time  to  go 
abroad  and  leave  you,  you  will  pump  your  brain  in 
vain  :  then,  sir,  with  the  master  of  a  playhouse  to  get 
it  acted,  whom  you  generally  follow  a  quarter  of  a 
year  before  you  know  whether  he  will  receive  it  or 
no ;  and  then,  perhaps,  he  tells  you  it  won't  do,  and 
returns  it  to  you  again,  reserving  the  subject,  and  per- 
haps the  name,  which  he  brings  out  in  his  next  pan- 
tomime; but  if  he  should  receive  the  play,  then  you 
must  attend  again  to  get  it  writ  out  into  parts  and 
rehearsed.  Well,  sir,  at  last,  the  rehearsals  begin  ; 
then,  sir,  begins  another  scene  of  trouble  with  the 
actors,  some  of  whom  don''t  like  their  parts,  and  all  are 
continually  plaguing  you  with  alterations  :  at  length, 
after  having  waded  through  all  these  difficulties,  his 
play  appears  on  the  stage,  where  one  man  hisses  out 
of  resentment  to  the  author,  a  second  out  of  dislike 
to  the  house,  a  third  out  of  dislike  to  the  actor,  a 
fourth  out  of  dislike  to  the  play,  a  fifth  for  the  joke 
sake,  a  sixth  to  keep  all  the  rest  in  company.    Enemies 

[168] 


PAS^UIN 

abuse  him,  friends  give  him  up,  the  play  is  damned' 
and  the  author  goes  to  the  devil  :  so  ends  the  farce. 

Sneer.  The  tragedy,  rather,  I  think,  Mr.  Fustian. 
But  what 's  become  of  Trapwit  ? 

Fust.  Gone  off,  I  suppose ;  I  knew  he  would  not 
stay  ;  he  is  so  taken  up  with  his  own  performances, 
that  he  has  no  time  to  attend  any  others.  But  come, 
Prompter,  will  the  tragedy  never  begin  't 

Enter  Prompter. 

Promp.  Yes,  sir,  they  are  all  ready  ;  come,  draw 
up  the  curtain. 

[FiREBEAND,  Law,  aiid  Physick  discovered. 

Sneer.  Pray,  Mr.  Fustian,  \\  ho  are  these  person- 
ages ? 

Fust.  That  in  the  middle,  sir,  is  Firebrand,  priest 
of  the  Sun  ;  he  on  the  right  represents  Law,  and  he 
on  the  left  Physick. 

Fireb.    Avert  these  omens,  ye  auspicious  stars  ! 

Fiist.  What  omens  ?  where  the  devil  is  the  thunder 
and  lightning  ? 

Promp.  Why  don't  you  let  go  the  thunder  there, 
and  flash  your  rosin  .?  [Thunder  and  lightning. 

Fust.  Now,  sir,  begin  if  you  please.  I  desire,  sir, 
you  will  get  a  larger  thunderbowl  and  twopenny  worth 
more  of  lightning  against  the  representation.  Now, 
sir,  if  you  please. 

Fireb.    Avert  these  omens,  ye  auspicious  stars ! 

0  Law  !  O  Phy.sick  !     As  last,  even  late, 

1  ofFerd  sacred  incense  in  the  temple. 

The  temple  sliook  —  strange  prodigies  appeai'ed ; 

[  169  ] 


PASQUIN 

A  cat  in  boots  did  dante  a  i-igadoon, 
While  a  huge  dog  play'd  on  the  vioHn  ; 
And  whilst  I  trembling  at  the  altar  stood, 
V'oices  were  heard  i'  th'  air,  and  seeni'd  to  say, 
"  Awake,  my  drowsy  sons,  and  sleep  no  more."" 
They  must  mean  something !  — 

Law.  Certainly  they  must. 

We  have  our  omens  too  !     The  other  day 
A  mighty  deluge  swam  into  our  hall, 
As  if  it  meant  to  wash  away  the  law  : 
Lawyers  were  forced  to  ride  on  porters'  shoulders  : 
One,  O  prodigious  omen  !   tumbled  down, 
And  he  and  all  his  briefs  were  sous'd  together. 
Now,  if  I  durst  my  sentiments  declare, 
I  think  it  is  not  hard  to  guess  the  meaning. 

Fireb.   Speak  boldly  ;  by  the  powers  I  serve,  I  swear 
You  speak  in  safety,  even  though  you  speak 
Against  the  gods,  provided  that  you  speak 
Not  against  priests. 

Law.  What  then  can  the  powers 

Mean  by  these  omens,  but  to  rouse  us  up 
From  the  lethargick  sway  of  Common  Sense  ? 
And  well  they  urge,  for  while  that  drowsy  queen 
Maintains  her  empire,  what  becomes  of  us  ? 

Phys.    My  lord  of  Law,  you  speak  my  sentiments  ; 
For  though  I  wear  the  mask  of  loyalty, 
And  outward  shew  a  reverence  to  the  queen, 
Yet  in  my  heart  I  hate  her :  yes,  by  heaven, 
She  stops  my  proud  ambition  !  keeps  me  down 
When  I  would  soar  upon  an  eagle*'s  wing, 
And  thence  look  down,  and  dose  the  world  below. 

Law.   Thou  know'st,  my  lord  of  Physick,  I  had  long 

r  170 1    ^ 


PASQUIN 

Been  privileged  by  custom  immemorial, 

In  tongues  unknown,  or  rather  none  at  all, 

My  edicts  to  deliver  through  the  land  ; 

When  this  proud  queen,  this  Common  Sense  abridged 

My  pov/er,  and  made  me  understood  by  all. 

Phys.    My  lord,  there  goes  a  rumour  through  the 
court 
That  you  descended  from  a  family 
Related  to  the  queen  ;  Reason  is  said 
T'  have  been  the  mighty  founder  of  your  house. 

Law.    Perhaps  so  ;  but  we  have  raised  ourselves  so 
high. 
And  shook  this  founder  from  us  off  so  far, 
We  hardly  deign  to  own  from  whence  we  came. 

Fireh.    My    lords    of  Law    and    Physick,   I    have 
heard 
With  perfect  approbation  all  you  've  said  : 
And  since  I  know  you  men  of  noble  spirit, 
And  fit  to  undertake  a  glorious  cause, 
I  will  divulge  myself:  know,  through  this  mask, 
Which  to  impose  on  vulgar  minds  I  wear, 
I  am  an  enemy  to  Common  Sense  ; 
But  this  not  for  Ambition's  earthly  cause, 
But  to  enlarge  the  worship  of  the  Sun  ; 
To  give  his  priests  a  just  degree  of  power. 
And  more  than  half  the  profits  of  the  land. 
Oh  !  my  good  lord  of  Law,  woukFst  thou  assist, 
In  spite  of  Common  Sense  it  may  be  done. 

Latv.    Propose  the  method. 

Fireh.  Here,  survey  this  list 

In  it  you  '11  find  a  certain  set  of  names, 
"VA'hom  well  I  know  sure  friends  to  Common  Sense ; 

[  ni  1 


PASQUIN 

These  it  must  be  our  care  to  represent 
The  greatest  enemies  to  the  gods  and  her. 
But  hush  !  the  queen  approaches. 

Enter  Queen  Common  Sense,  attended  hy  two 
Maids  of  Honour. 

Ftist.    What !  but  two  maids  of  honour  ? 
Promp.    Sir,  a   Jew  carried  off  the  other,  but    I 
shall  be  able  to  pick  up  some  more  against  the  play 
is  acted. 

Q.  C.  S.    My  lord   of  Law,  I  sent    for   you   this 
morning ; 
I  have  a  strange  petition  given  to  me. 
Two  men,  it  seems,  have  lately  been  at  law 
For  an  estate,  which  both  of  them  have  lost, 
And  their  attorneys  now  divide  between  them. 
Law.    Madam,  these   things  will   happen  in  the 

law. 
Q:  C.  S.    Will  they,  my  lord  ?  then  better  we  had 
none : 
But  I  have  also  heard  a  sweet  bird  sing. 
That  men  unable  to  discharge  their  debts 
At  a  short  warning,  being  sued  for  them. 
Have,  with  both  power  and  will  their  debts  to  pay, 
Lain  all  their  lives  in  prison  for  their  costs. 

Lawi    That  may,  perhaps,  be  some  poor  person's 
case, 
Too  mean  to  entertain  your  royal  ear. 

Q.  C.  S.    My  lord,  while  I  am  queen  I  shall  not 
think 
One  man  too  mean  or  poor  to  be  redressed. 

[172] 


PASQUIN 

Moreover,  lord,  I  am  informed  your  laws 
Are  grown  so  large,  and  daily  yet  increase, 
That  the  great  age  of  old  Metliusalem 
Would  scarce  suffice  to  read  your  statutes  out. 

Fir  eh.    Madam,  a  more  important  cause  demands 
Your  royal  care  ;  strange  omens  have  appeared  ; 
Sights  have  been  seen,  and  voices  have  been  heard, 
The  gods  are  angry,  and  must  be  appeas'd ; 
Nor  do  I  know  to  that  a  readier  way 
Than  by  beginning  to  appease  their  priests, 
Who  groan  for  power,  and  cry  out  after  honour. 

Q.  C.  S.    The  gods,  indeed,  have  reason  for  their 
anger, 
And  sacrifices  shall  be  ofFerd  to  them  ; 
But  would  you  make  "'em  welcome,  priest,  be  meek, 
Be  charitable,  kind,  nor  dare  affront 
The  Sun  you  worship,  while  yourselves  prevent 
That  happiness  to  men  you  ask  of  him. 

Enter  an  Officer. 

Q.  C.  S.    What  means  this  hasty  message  in  your 
looks  ? 

Offic.    Forgive  me,  madam,  if  my  tongue  declares 
News  for  your  sake,  which  most  my  heart  abhors ; 
Queen  Ignorance  is  landed  in  your  realm, 
With  a  vast  power  from  Italy  and  France 
Of  singers,  fidlers,  tumblers,  and  rope-dancers. 

Q.  C.  S.    Order  our  army  instantly  to  get 
Themselves  in  readiness  ;  ourself  will  head  'em. 
My  lords,  you  are  concerned  as  well  as  we 
T"  oppose  this  foreign  force,  and  we  expect 

[1-3] 


PASQUIN 

You  join  us  with  your  utmost  levies  straight. 
Go,  priest,  and  drive  all  frightful  omens  hence  ; 
To  fright  the  vulgar  they  are  your  pretence, 
But  sure  the  gods  will  side  with  Common  Sense- 

[Ea^it  cum  siiis. 
Fireb.    They   Icnow  their  interest   better ;    or   at 

least 
Their    priests    do    for   'em,    and   themselves.       Oh ! 

lords, 
This  queen  of  Ignorance,  whom  you  have  heard 
Just  now  described  in  such  a  horrid  form. 
Is  the  most  gentle  and  most  pious  queen ; 
So  fearful  of  the  gods,  that  she  believes 
Whatever  their  priests  affirm.     And  by  the  Sun, 
Faith  is  no  faith  if  it  falls  short  of  that. 
I  'd  be  infallible  ;  and  that,  I  know, 
Will  ne''er  be  granted  me  by  Common  Sense  : 
Wherefore  I  do  disclaim  her,  and  will  join 
The  cause  of  Ignorance.     And  now,  my  lords, 
Each  to  his  post.     The  rostrum  I  ascend  ; 
My  lord  of  Law,  you  to  your  courts  repair ; 
And  you,  my  good  lord  Physick,  to  the  queen  ; 
Handle  her  pulse,  potion  and  pill  her  well. 

Phys.    Oh  !  my  good  lord,  had  I  her  royal  ear, 
Would  she  but  take  the  counsel  I  would  give, 
You  ""d  need  no  foreign  power  to  overthrow  her  : 
Yes,  by  the  gods  !     I  would  with  one  small  pill 
Unhinge  her  soul,  and  tear  it  from  her  body  ; 
But  to  my  art  and  me  a  deadly  foe. 
She  has  averr*'d,  ay,  in  the  publick  court, 
That  Water  Gruel  is  the  best  physician ; 
For  which,  when  she  's  forgiven  by  the  college, 

[174] 


PASQUIN 

Or  when  we  own  the  sway  of  Common  Sense, 
May  we  be  forced  to  take  our  ovvn  prescriptions  ! 

Fireh.    My  lord  of  Physick,  I  applaud  thy  spirit. 
Yes,  by  the  Sun,  my  heart  laughs  loud  within  me, 
To  see  how  easily  the  world 's  deceived  ; 
To  see  this  Common  Sense  thus  tumbled  down 
By  men  whom  all  the  cheated  nations  own 
To  be  the  strongest  pillars  of  her  throne. 

\_Exeu7it  FiREB.,  Law,  and  Phys. 

Fiist.    Thus  ends  the  first  act,  sir. 

Sneer.  This  tragedy  of  yours,  Mr.  Fustian,  I  ob- 
serve to  be  emblematical  ;  do  you  think  it  will  be 
understood  by  the  audience  ? 

Fust.  Sii',  I  cannot  answer  for  the  audience ; 
though  I  think  the  pancgyrick  intended  by  it  is 
very  plain  and  very  seasonable. 

Sneer.    What  panegyrick  ? 

Fust.  On  our  clergy,  sir,  at  least  the  best  of  them, 
to  shew  the  difference  between  a  heathen  and  a 
Christian  priest.  And,  as  I  have  touched  only  on 
generals,  I  hope  I  shall  not  be  thought  to  bring 
anything  improper  on  the  stage,  which  I  would 
carefully  avoid. 

Sneer.  But  is  not  your  satire  on  law  and  physick 
somewhat  too  general  ? 

Fust.  What  is  said  here  cannot  hurt  either  an 
honest  lawyer  or  a  good  physician  ;  and  such  may 
l)e,  nay,  I  know  such  are  :  if  the  opposites  to  these 
are  the  most  general  I  cannot  help  that  ;  as  for  the 
pi'ofessors  themsehes,  I  have  no  great  reason  to  be 
their  friend,  for  they  once  joined  in  a  particular 
conspiracy  against  me. 

[175] 


PASQUIN 

Stieer.    Ah,  how  so  ? 

Fust.  Why,  an  apothecary  brought  me  in  a  long 
bill,  and  a  lawyer  made  me  pay  it. 

Sneer.    Ha,  ha,  ha  !  a  conspiracy,  indeed  ! 

Fitst.  Now,  sir,  for  my  second  act ;  my  tragedy 
consists  but  of  three. 

Sneer.  I  thought  that  had  been  immethodical  in 
tragedy. 

Ficst.  That  may  be  ;  but  I  spun  it  out  as  long  as 
I  could  keep  Common  Sense  alive ;  ay,  or  even  her 
ghost.     Come,  begin  the  second  act. 

The  scene  draws  and  discovers  Queen  Common 
Sense  asleep. 

Sneer.  Pray,  sir,  who 's  that  upon  the  couch 
there  ? 

Fust.  I  thought  you  had  known  her  better,  sir : 
that 's  Common  Sense  asleep. 

Sneer.  I  should  rather  have  expected  her  at  the 
head  of  her  army. 

Fust.  Very  likely,  but  you  do  not  understand  the 
practical  rules  of  writing  as  well  as  I  do  ;  the  first 
and  greatest  of  which  is  protraction,  or  the  art  of 
spirming,  without  which  the  matter  of  a  play  would 
lose  the  chief  property  of  all  other  mattei-,  namely, 
extension  ;  and  no  play,  sir,  could  possibly  last  longer 
than  half  an  hour.  I  perceive,  Mr.  Sneerwell,  you 
are  one  of  those  who  would  have  no  character  brought 
on  but  what  is  necessary  to  the  business  of  the  play. 
—  Nor  I  neither  —  But  the  business  of  the  play,  as 
I  take  it,  is  to  divert,  and  therefore  every  character 

[176] 


PASQUIN 

that   diverts   is   necessary   to   the    business   of  the 
play. 

Sneer.  But  how  will  the  audience  be  brought  to 
conceive  any  probable  reason  for  this  sleep  ? 

Ficst.  Why,  sir,  she  has  been  meditating  on  the 
present  general  peace  of  Europe,  till  by  too  intense 
an  application,  being  not  able  thoroughly  to  com- 
prehend it,  she  was  overpowered  and  fell  fast  asleep. 
Come,  ring  up  the  first  ghost.  [Ghost  arises.^  You 
know  that  ghost  ? 

Sneer.  Upon  my  word,  sir,  I  can''t  recollect  any 
acquaintance  with  him. 

Fust.  I  am  surprized  at  that,  for  you  must  have 
seen  him  often  :  thafs  the  ghost  of  Tragedy,  sir  ;  he 
has  walked  all  the  stages  of  London  several  years  ; 
but  why  are  not  you  floured .?  —  What  the  devil  is 
become  of  the  barber.'* 

Ghost.  Sir,  he's  gone  to  Drury-lane  playhouse  to 
shave  the  Sultan  in  the  new  entertainment. 

Fust.    Come,  Mr,  Ghost,  pray  begin. 

Ghost.    From  the  dark  regions  of  the  realms  below 
The  ghost  of  Tragedy  has  ridden  post ; 
To  tell  thee,  Common  Sense,  a  thousand  things. 
Which  do  import  thee  nearly  to  attend  :  [Cock  croxvs. 
But,  ha  !  the  ciu'sed  cock  has  warn VI  me  hence  ; 
I  did  set  out  too  late,  and  therefore  must 
Leave  all  my  business  to  some  other  time. 

[Ghost  descends. 

Sneer.  I  presume  this  is  a  character  necessary  to 
divert ;  for  I  can  see  no  great  business  he  has  fulfilled. 

Fust.    Where 's  the  second  gliost .'' 

Sneer.    I  thought  the  cock  had  crowed. 
VOL.  II. —12  [  177  ] 


PASQUIN 

FvM.  Yes,  but  the  second  ghost  need  not  be  sup- 
posed to  have  heard  it.  Pray,  Mr.  Prompter,  observe, 
the  moment  the  first  ghost  descends  the  second  is 
to  rise  :  they  are  like  the  twin  stars  in  that. 

[2  Ghost  rises. 

2  Ghost.    Awake,  great  Common  Sense,  and  sleep 
no  more. 

Look  to  thyself ;  for  then,  when  I  was  slain. 

Thyself  was  struck  at ;  think  not  to  survive 

My  murder  long ;  for  while  thou  art  on  earth, 

The  convocation  will  not  meet  again. 

The  lawyers  cannot  rob  men  of  their  rights  ; 

Physicians  cannot  dose  away  their  souls ; 

A  courtier"'s  promise  will  not  be  believed ; 

Nor  broken  citizens  again  be  trusted. 

A  thousand  newspapers  cannot  subsist 

In  which  there  is  not  any  news  at  all. 

Playhouses  cannot  flourish,  while  they  dare 

To  nonsense  give  an  entertainment's  name. 

Shakspeare,  and  Jonson,  Dryden,  Lee,  and  Rowe, 

Thou  wilt  not  bear  to  yield  to  Sadler's  Wells  ; 

Thou  wilt  not  suffer  men  of  wit  to  starve, 

And  fools,  for  only  being  fools,  to  thrive. 

Thou  wilt  not  suffer  eunuchs  to  be  hired 

At  a  vast  price,  to  be  impertinent.        [3  Ghost  rises. 

3  Ghost.    Dear  ghost,   the  cock  has  crow'd ;  you 
cannot  get 

Under  the  ground  a  mile  before  ''t  is  day. 

2  Ghost.    Your  humble  servant  then,  I  cannot  stay. 

[Ghost  descends. 
Fust.    Thunder  and  lightning  !  thunder  and  light- 
ning !     Pray  don't  forget  this  w^hen  it  is  acted. 

[178] 


PASQUIN 

Sneer.  Pray,  Mr.  Fustian,  why  must  a  ghost  always 
rise  in  a  storm  of  thunder  and  lightning  ?  for  I  have 
read  much  of  that  doctrine  and  don't  find  any  men- 
tion  of  such  ornaments. 

Fust.  That  may  be,  but  they  are  very  necessary ; 
they  are  indeed  properly  the  paraphernalia  of  a 
ghost. 

Sneer.    But,  pray,  whose  ghost  was  that  ? 

Fust.  Whose  should  it  be  but  Comedy's  ?  I 
thought,  when  you  had  been  told  the  other  was 
Tragedy,  you  would  have  wanted  no  intimation  who 
this  was.  Come,  Common  Sense,  you  are  to  awake 
and  rub  your  eyes. 

Q.  C.  S.    [IVal'ing.]   Who's  there.?— 

Enter  Maid  of  Honour. 

Did  you  not  hear  or  see  some  wond'rous  thing.? 

Maid.  No,  may  it  please  your  majesty,  I  did 
not. 

Q.  C.  S.    I  was  a-dream'd  I  overheard  a  ghost. 

Maid.    In  the  next  room  I  closely  did  attend, 
And  had  a  ghost  been  here  I  must  have  heard  him. 

Enter  Firebrand. 

Q.  C.  S.    Priest    of    the    Sun,    you    come    most 
opportune, 
For  here  has  been  a  dreadful  apparition : 
As  I  lay  sleeping  on  my  couch,  methought 
I  saw  a  ghost. 

Siieei:  Then  I  suppose  she  sleeps  with  her  eyes 
open. 

[179  J 


PASQUIN 

Fiwit.    Why,  you  would  not  l^ave  Common  Sense 
see  a  ghost,  unless  in  her  sleep,  I  hope. 

Fireb.    And  if  such  toleration 
Be  suffered  as  at  present  you  maintain. 
Shortly  your  court  will  be  a  court  of  ghosts. 
Make  a  huge  fire  and  burn  all  unbelievers  : 
Ghosts  will  be  hang'd  ere  venture  near  a  fire. 

Q.  C.  S.    Men  caimot  force  belief  upon  themselves, 
And  shall  I  then  by  torture  force  it  on  them  ? 

Fireb.    The  Sun  will  have  it  so. 

Q^  C.  S.  How  do  I  know  that  ? 

Fireb.    Why    I,    his    priest    infallible,    have    told 
you. 

Q.  C.  S.    How  do  I  know  you  are  infallible  ? 

Fireb.    Ha  !  do  you  doubt  it !  nay,  if  you  doubt 
that, 
I  will  prove  nothing.     But  my  zeal  inspires  me, 
And  I  will  tell  you,  madam,  you  yourself 
Are  a  niost  deadly  enemy  to  the  Sun  ; 
And  all  his  priests  have  greatest  cause  to  wish 
You  had  been  never  born. 

Q.  C.  S.  Ha  !  sayest  thou,  priest  ? 

Then  know,  I  honour  and  adore  the  Sun  : 
And  when  I  see  his  light,  and  feel  his  warmth, 
I  glow  with  flaming  gratitude  towards  him  ; 
But  know,  I  never  will  adore  a  priest, 
Who  wears  pride's  face  beneath  religion's  mask, 
And  makes  a  pick -lock  of  his  piety 
To  steal  away  the  liberty  of  mankind  : 
But  while  I  live,  1 11  never  give  thee  power. 

Fireb.    Madam,  our  power  is  not  derived  from  you, 
Nor  any  one :  't  was  sent  us  in  a  box 

[180] 


PASQUIN 

From  the  great  Sun  himself,  and  carnage  paid  : 
Phaeton  brought  it  when  he  overturned 
The  chariot  of  the  Sun  into  the  sea, 

Q.  C.  S.    Shew  me  the  instrument  and  let  me  read 
it. 

Fireb.    Madam,    you    cannot   read    it,   for,    being 
thrown 
Into  the  sea,  the  water  has  so  damaged  it 
That  none  but  priests  could  ever  read  it  since. 

Q.  C.  S.    And   do  you   think    I   can   believe  this 
tale  ? 

Fireb.    I  order  you  to  believe  it,  and  you  must. 

Q.  C.  S.    Proud  and  imperious  man,  I    can't  be- 
lieve it. 
Religion,  law,  and  physick,  were  designed 
By  heaven  the  greatest  blessings  on  mankind ; 
But  priests,  and  lawyers,  and  physicians,  made 
These  general  goods  to  each  a  private  trade  ; 
With  each  they  rob,  with  each  they  fill  their  purses, 
And  turn  our  benefits  into  our  curses.  \_Ea:it. 

Ftist.   Law  and  Physick.     Where 's  Law  ? 

Enter  Physic, 

Phys.  Sir,  Law,  going  without  the  playhouse  pas- 
sage, was  taken  up  by  a  lord  chief-justice's  warrant. 

Fireb.    Then  we  must  go  on  without  him. 

Fust.  No,  no,  stay  a  moment ;  I  must  get  some- 
body else  to  rehearse  the  part.  Pox  take  all  war- 
rants for  me !  if  I  had  known  this  before  I  would 
have  satirized  the  law  ten  times  more  than  I  have. 


[181] 


ACT  V 

Scene  I.  —  Enter  Fustian,  Sneerwell,  Prompter, 
Firebrand,  Law,  Physick. 

Fust.  I  am  glad  you  have  made  your  escape  ;  but 
I  hope  you  will  make  the  matter  up  before  the  day 
of  action :  come,  INIr.  Firebrand,  now  if  you  please 
go  on  ;  the  moment  Common  Sense  goes  off  the 
stage  Law  and  Physick  enter. 

F'lreb.    Oh  !  my  good  lords  of  Physick  and  of  Law, 
Had  you  been  sooner  here  you  would  have  heard 
The  haughty  queen  of  Common  Sense  throw  out 
Abuses  on  us  all. 

Law.  I  am  not  now 

To  learn  the  hatred  which  she  bears  to  me. 
No  more  of  that  —  for  now  the  warlike  queen 
Of  Ignorance,  attended  with  a  train 
Of  foreigners,  all  foes  to  Conmion  Sense, 
Arrives  at  Covent-garden  ;  and  we  ought 
To  join  her  instantly  with  all  our  force. 
At  Temple-bar  some  regiments  parade ; 
The  colonels,  Clifford,  Thavies,  and  Furnival, 
Through  Holborn  lead  their  powers  to  Drury-Iane, 
Attorneys  all  compleatly  armed  in  brass : 
These,  bailiffs  and  their  followers  will  join. 
With  justices,  and  constables,  and  watchmen. 

Phys.  In  Warwick-lane  my  powers  expect  me  now ; 
A  hundred  chariots  with  a  chief  in  each, 

[182] 


PASQUIN 

Well-famed  for  slaughter,  in  his  hand  he  bears 
A  feathered  dart  that  seldom  errs  in  flight. 
Next  mai-ch  a  band  of  choice  apothecaries, 
Each  arm'd  with  deadly  pill ;  a  regiment 
Of  surgeons  terrible  maintain  the  rear, 
All  ready  first  to  kill,  and  then  dissect. 

F'lreh.    My  lords,  you  merit  greatly  of  the  queen, 
And  Ignorance  shall  well  repay  your  deeds ; 
For  I  foretel  that  by  her  influence 
Men  shall  be  brought  (what  scarce  can  be  believed) 
To  bribe  you  with  large  fees  to  their  undoing. 
Success  attend  3'our  gloi'ious  enterprize ; 
1 11  go  and  beg  it  earnest  of  the  Sun  : 
I,  by  my  office,  am  from  fight  debarred. 
But  I  '11  be  with  you  ere  the  booty 's  shared. 

\_Exeunt  Firebraxd,  Law,  and  Physick. 

Fust.  Now,  Mr.  Sneerwell,  we  shall  begin  my 
third  and  last  act ;  and  I  believe  I  may  defy  all  the 
poets  who  have  ever  writ,  or  ever  will  write,  to  pro- 
duce its  e(|ual  :  it  is,  sir,  so  crammed  with  drums 
and  trumpets,  thunder  and  lightning,  battles  and 
ghosts,  that  I  believe  the  audience  will  want  no  en- 
tertainment after  it :  it  is  as  full  of  shew  as  Merlin's 
cave  itself;  and  for  wit  —  no  rope-dancing  or  tum- 
bling can  come  near  it.     Come,  begin. 

\_A  ridiculous  march  is  played. 

Enter  Queen  Ignoraxce,  attended  with  Singers, 
Fidlers,  Rope-dancers,  Tumblers,  &c. 

Q.  Ign.    Here  fix  our  standard ;  what  is  this  place 

called  ? 
I  Att.    Great  madam,  Covent-garden  is  its  name. 

[183] 


PASQUIN 

Q.  Ig)i.    Ha  !  then  methinks  we  have  ventured  too 

far, 
Too  near  those  theatres  where  Common  Sense 
Maintains  her  garrisons  of  mighty  force  ; 
Who,  should  they  sally  on  us  ere  we're  joined 
By  Law  and  Physick,  may  offend  us  much. 

[Drum  beats  within. 

But  ha  !  what  means  this  drum  ? 

I  Jtt.    It  beats  a  parley,  not  a  point  of  war. 

Enter  Harlequin. 

Harl    To  you,  great  queen  of  Ignorance,  I  come 
Embassador  fi'om  the  two  theatres ; 
Who  both  congratulate  you  on  your  arrival ; 
And  to  convince  you  with  what  hearty  meaning 
They  sue  for  your  alliance,  they  have  sent 
Their  choicest  treasure  here  as  hostages. 
To  be  detained  till  you  are  well  convinced 
They  're  not  less  foes  to  Common  Sense  than  you. 

Q.  Ign.    Where  are  the  hostages  ? 

Harl  Madam,  I  have  brought 

A  catalogue,  and  all  therein  shall  be 
Deliver  d  to  your  order  ;  but  consider, 
Oh  mighty  queen  !  they  offer  you  their  all ; 
And  gladly  for  the  least  of  these  would  give 
Their  poets  and  their  actors  in  exchange. 

Q.  Ign.    Read  the  catalogue. 

Harl  [Reads.]  "  A  tall  man,  and  a  tall  woman, 
hired  at  a  vast  price.  A  strong  man  exceeding  dear. 
Two  dogs  that  walk  on  their  hind  legs  only,  and 
personate  human  creatures  so  well,  they  might  be 

[184] 


PASQUIN 

mistaken  for  them.  A  human  creature  that  person- 
ates a  dog  so  well  that  he  might  almost  be  taken  for 
one.  Two  human  cats.  A  most  curious  set  of  pup- 
pies. A  pair  of  pigeons.  A  set  of  rope-dancers 
and  tumblers  from  Sadlers-wells." 

Q.  Ign.    Enough,  enough  ;  and  is  it  possible 
That  they  can  hold  alliance  with  my  friends 
Of  Sadler's-wells  ?  then  are  they  foes  indeed 
To  Common  Sense,  and  I  'm  indebted  to  'em. 
Take  back  their  hostages,  for  they  may  need  'em  ; 
And  take  this  play,  and  bid  'em  forthwith  act  it ; 
There  is  not  in  it  either  head  or  tail. 

Harl.    Madam,  they  will  most  gratefully  receive  it. 
The  character  you  give  would  recommend  it, 
Though  it  had  come  from  a  less  powerful  hand. 

Q.  Ign.    The  Modish  Couple  is  its  name  ;  myself 
Stood  gossip  to  it,  and  I  will  support 
This  play  against  the  town. 

I  Att.  Madam,  the  queen 

Of  Common  Sense  advances  with  her  powers. 

Q.  Ign.    Draw   up   my   men,  I  '11   meet   her  as  I 
ought ; 
This  day  shall  end  the  long  dispute  between  us. 

Enter  Queen  Common  Sense  with  a  Drummer. 

Fust.    Hey-day  !  where 's  Common  Sense's  army  ? 

Promp.  Sir,  I  have  sent  all  over  the  town,  and 
could  not  get  one  soldier  for  her,  except  that  poor 
drununer,  who  was  lately  turned  out  of  an  Irish 
regiment. 

Drum.    Upon  my  shoul  but  I  have  been  a  drum- 

[185] 


PASQUIN 

mer  these  twenty  years,  master,  and  have  seen  no 
wars  yet ;  and  I  was  wilhng  to  learn  a  little  of  my 
trade  before  I  died. 

Fust.    Hush,  sirrah  !  don't  you  be  witty  ;  that  is 
not  in  your  part. 

Drum.    I  don't  know  what  is  in  my  part,  sir ;  but 
I  desire  to  have  something  in  it ;  for  I  have  been 
tired  of  doing  nothing  a  great  while. 
Fust.    Silence ! 

Q.  C.  S.    Wliat  is  the  reason,  madam,  that  you 
bring 
These  hostile  arms  into  my  peaceful  realm  ? 

Q.  Ign.    To    ease   your   subjects    from    that    dire 
oppression 
They  groan  beneath,  which  longer  to  support 
Unable,  they  invited  my  redress. 

Q.  C.  S.    And  can  my  subjects  then  complain  of 
wrong  ? 
Base  and  ungrateful !  what  is  their  complaint  ? 

Q.  Ign.    They  say  you  do  impose  a  tax  of  thought 
Upon    their    minds,    which    they  're    too    weak    to 
bear. 
Q.  C.  S.    Wouldst  thou  from  thinking  then  absolve 

mankind  ? 
Q.  Ign.    I  would,  for  thinking  only   makes   men 
wretched ; 
And  happiness  is  still  the  lot  of  fools. 
Why  should  a  wise  man  wish  to  think,  when  thought 
Still  hurts  his  pride  ;  in  spite  of  all  his  art, 
Malicious  fortune,  by  a  lucky  train 
Of  accidents,  shall  still  defeat  his  scliemes, 
And  set  the  greatest  blunderer  above  him. 

[186] 


PASQUIN 

Q.  C.  S.    Urgest  thou  that  against  me,  which  thy- 
seh" 
Has  been  the  wicked  cause  of?     Which  thy  power, 
Thy  artifice,  thy  favourites  have  done  ? 
Could  Connnon  Sense  bear  universal  sway, 
No  fool  could  ever  possibly  be  great. 

Q.  Ign.    What  is  this  folly,  which  you  try  to  paint 
In  colours  so  detestable  and  black  ? 
Is 't  not  the  general  gift  of  fate  to  men  ? 
And  though  some  few  may  boast  superior  sense. 
Are  they  not  calPd  odd  fellows  by  the  rest  ? 
In  any  science,  if  this  sense  peep  forth. 
Shew  men  the  truth,  and  strive  to  turn  their  steps 
From  ways  wherein  their  gross  forefathers  err'd, 
Is  not  the  general  cry  against  them  straight  ? 

Sneer.    This    Ignorance,    Mr.    Fustian,    seems    to 
know  a  great  deal. 

Fust.  Yes,  sir,  she  knows  what  she  has  seen  so 
often ;  but  you  find  she  mistakes  the  cause,  and 
Connnon  Sense  can  never  beat  it  into  her. 

Q.  Ign.    Sense   is    the    parent    still    of   fear ;    the 
fox, 
Wise  beast,  who  knows  the  treachery  of  men, 
Flies  their  society,  and  skulks  in  woods. 
While  the  poor  goose,  in  happiness  and  ease. 
Fearless  grows  fat  within  its  narrow  coop, 
And  thinks  the  hand  that  feeds  it  is  its  friend ; 
Then  yield  thee.  Common  Sense,  nor  rashly  dare 
Try  a  vain  combat  with  superior  force. 

Q.  C.  S.    Know,  queen,  I  never  will  give  up  the 
cause 
Of  all  these  followers  :  when  at  the  head 

[187] 


PASQUIN 

Of  all  these  heroes  I  resign  my  right, 

May  my  curst  name  be  blotted  fi'om  the  earth  ! 

Sneer.  Methinks,  Common  Sense,  though,  ought 
to  give  it  up,  when  she  has  no  more  to  defend  it. 

Fust.  It  does  indeed  look  a  little  odd  at  present ; 
but  I  '11  get  her  an  army  strong  enough  against  its 
acted.     Come,  go  on. 

Q.  Ign.    Then  thus  I  hurl  defiance  at  thy  head. 
Draw  all  your  swords. 

Q.  C.  S.  And,  gentlemen,  draw  yours. 

Q.  Ign.    Fall  on  ;  have  at  thy  heart.  [J  Jight. 

Q.  C.  S.  And  have  at  thine. 

Fiist.  Oh,  fie  upon  't,  fie  upon  't !  I  never  saw  a 
worse  battle  in  all  my  life  upon  any  stage.  Pray, 
gentlemen,  come  some  of  you  over  to  the  other  side. 

S}ieer.  These  are  Swiss  soldiers,  I  perceive,  Mr. 
Fustian  ;  they  care  not  which  side  they  fight  of. 

Ftist.  Now,  begin  again,  if  you  please,  and  fight 
away  ;  pray  fight  as  if  you  were  in  earnest,  gentle- 
men. [They Jight.']  Oons,  Mr.  Prompter !  I  fancy 
you  hired  these  soldiers  out  of  the  trained  bands  — 
they  are  afraid  to  figlit  even  in  jest.  \They  Jight 
again.']  There,  there  —  pretty  well.  I  think,  Mr. 
Sneerwell,  we  have  made  a  shift  to  make  out  a  good 
sort  of  a  battle  at  last. 

Sneer.    Indeed  I  cannot  say  I  ever  saw  a  better. 

Fust.  You  don't  seem,  Mr.  Sneerwell,  to  relish 
this  battle  greatly. 

Srieer.  I  cannot  profess  myself  the  greatest  admirer 
of  this  part  of  tragedy ;  and  I  own  my  imagination 
can  better  conceive  the  idea  of  a  battle  from  a  skilful 
relation  of  it  than  from  such  a  representation  ;  for 

L188] 


PASQUIN 

my  mind  is  not  able  to  enlarge  the  stage  into  a 
vast  plain,  nor  multiply  half  a  score  into  several 
thousands. 

Fust.  Oh  ;  your  humble  servant !  but  if  we  write 
to  please  you  and  half  a  dozen  others,  who  will  pay 
the  charges  of  the  house  ?  Sir,  if  the  audience  will 
be  contented  with  a  battle  or  two,  instead  of  all  the 
raree-fine  shows  exhibited  to  them  in  what  they  call 
entertainments 

Sneer.  Pray,  Mr.  Fustian,  how  came  they  to  give 
the  name  of  entertainments  to  their  pantomimical 
farces  ? 

Fust.  Faith,  sir,  out  of  their  peculiar  modesty ; 
intimating  that  after  the  audience  had  been  tired 
with  the  dull  works  of  Shakspeare,  Jonson,  Vanbrugh, 
and  others,  they  are  to  be  entertained  with  one  of 
these  pantomimes,  of  which  the  master  of  the  play- 
house, two  or  three  painters,  and  half  a  score 
dancing-masters  are  the  compilers.  What  these 
entertainments  are,  I  need  not  inform  you,  who 
have  seen  'em ;  but  I  have  often  wondered  how  it 
was  possible  for  any  creature  of  human  understand- 
ing, after  having  been  diverted  for  three  hours  with 
the  production  of  a  great  genius,  to  sit  for  three 
more  and  see  a  set  of  people  running  about  the  stage 
after  one  another,  without  speaking  one  syllable,  and 
playing  several  juggling  tricks,  which  are  done  at 
Fawks\s  after  a  much  better  manner ;  and  for  this, 
sir,  the  town  does  not  only  pay  additional  prices,  but 
loses  several  fine  parts  of  its  best  authors,  which  are 
cut  out  to  make  room  for  the  said  farces. 

Sneer.    'T  is  very  true ;  and  I  have  heai'd  a  hun- 

[  189  ] 


PASQUIN 

dred  say  the  same  thing,  who  never  failed  being 
present  at  them. 

Fust.  And  while  that  happens,  they  will  force  any 
entertainment  upon  the  town  they  please,  in  spite  of 
its  teeth.  [^Ghost  of  Common  Sensk  rises.^  Oons, 
and  the  devil,  madam  !  what 's  the  meaning  of  this .? 
You  have  left  out  a  scene.  Was  ever  such  an  ab- 
surdity as  for  your  ghost  to  appear  before  you  are 
killed. 

Q.  C.  S.  I  ask  pardon,  sir ;  in  the  hurry  of  the 
battle  I  forgot  to  come  and  kill  myself 

Fust.  Well,  let  me  wipe  the  flour  off  your  face 
then.  And  now,  if  you  please,  rehearse  the  scene  ; 
take  care  you  don^'t  make  this  mistake  any  more 
though,  for  it  would  inevitably  damn  the  play  if  you 
should.  Go  to  the  corner  of  the  scene,  and  come  in 
as  if  vou  had  lost  the  battle. 

Q.  C.  S.  Behold  the  ghost  of  Common  Sense 
appears. 

Fust.  'Sdeath,  madam,  I  tell  you  you  are  no 
ghost  —  you   are  not   killed. 

Q.  C.  S.  Deserted  and  forlorn,  where  shall  I  fly. 
The  battle 's  lost,  and  so  are  all  my  friends. 

Enter  a  Poet. 

Poet.    Madam,  not  so ;  still  you  have  one  friend 

left. 
Q.  C.  S.    Why,  what  art  thou .? 
Poet.  Madam,  I  am  a  poet. 

Q.  C.  S.    Whoe'er  thou  art,  if  thou'rt  a  friend  to 
misery, 
Know  Common  Sense  disclaims  thee. 

[190] 


PASQUIN 

Poet.  I  have  been  damn''d 

Because  I  was  your  foe,  and  yet  I  still 
Courted  your  friendship  with  my  utmost  art. 

Q.  C.  S.    Fool !   thou  wert  damu'd   because  thou 
didst  pretend 
Thyself  my  fi-iend  ;  for  hadst  thou  boldly  dared, 
Like  Hurlothrumbo,  to  deny  me  quite, 
Or,  like  an  opera  or  pantomime, 
Profess'd  the  cause  of  Ignorance  in  publick, 
Thou  might\st  have  met  with  thy  desired  success ; 
But  men  can't  bear  even  a  pretence  to  me. 

Poet.    Then  take  a  ticket  for  my  benefit  night. 
Q.  C.  S.    I  will  do  more  —  for  Common  Sense  will 
stay 
Quite  from  your  house,  so  may  you  not  be  damn'd. 
Poet.    Ha !   say'st  thou  ?     By   my   soul,   a  better 
play 
Ne'er  came  upon  a  stage  ;  but,  since  you  dare 
Contemn  me  thus,  I  "11  dedicate  my  play 
To  Ignorance,  and  call  her  Common  Sense : 
Yes,  I  will  dress  her  in  your  pomp,  and  swear 
That  Ignorance  knows  more  than  all  the  world. 

[^Ecvit. 
Enter  Firebrand. 

Fireh.    Thanks   to  the   Sun   for  this   desired  en- 
counter. 
Q.  C.  S.    Oh,   priest !    all 's  lost ;    our   forces  are 
overthrown  — 
Some  gasping  lie,  but  most  are  run  away. 

Fireh.    I  knew  it  all  before,  and  told  you  too. 
The  Sun  has  long  been  out  of  humour  with  you. 

[  191  J 


PASQUIN 

Q.  C.  S.   Dost  thou,  then,  lay  upon  the  Sun  the 
faults 
Of  all  those  cowards  who  forsook  my  cause  ? 

Fireh.    Those  cowards  all  were  most  religious  men  : 
And  I  beseech  thee,  Sun,  to  shine  upon  them. 

Q.  C.  S.    Oh,  impudence !  and  darest  thou  to  my 
face  ? 

Ftreb.    Yes,  I   dare   more;  the  Sun  presents  you 
this,  [Stabs  her. 

Which  I,  his  faithful  messenger,  deliver. 

Q.  C.  S.    Oh,  traytor !  thou  hast  murder'd  Com- 
mon Sense. 
Farewel,  vain  world  !  to  Ignorance  I  give  thee. 
Her  leaden  sceptre  shall  henceforward  rule. 
Now,  priest,  indulge  thy  wild  ambitious  thoughts  ; 
Men  shall  embrace  thy  schemes,  till  thou  hast  drawn 
All  worship  from  the  Sun  upon  thyself: 
Henceforth  all  things  shall  topsy-turvy  turn  ; 
Physick  shall  kill,  and  Law  enslave  the  world ; 
Cits  shall  turn  beaus,  and  taste  Italian  songs, 
While  courtiers  are  stock -jobbing  in  the  city. 
Places  requiring  learning  and  great  parts 
Henceforth  shall  all  be  hustled  in  a  hat. 
And  drawn  by  men  deficient  in  them  both. 
Statesmen  —  but  oh  !  cold  death  will  let  me  say 
No  more  —  and  you  must  guess  et  coetera.  [Dies. 

Fireh.    She's  gone!  but  ha!  it  may  beseem  me  ill 
T  appear  her  murderer.     I  "11  therefore  lay 
This  dagger  by  her  side  ;  and  that  will  be 
Sufficient  evidence,  with  a  little  money. 
To  make  the  coroner's  inquest  find  self-murder. 
I  '11  preach  her  funeral  sermon,  and  deplore 

[192] 


PASQUIN 

Her  loss  with  tears,  praise  her  with  all  my  art. 
Good  Ignorance  will  still  believe  it  all.  [Exit. 

Enter  Queen  Ignorance,  &c. 

Q.  Ign.    Beat  a  retreat ;  the  day  is  now  our  own  ; 
The  powers  of  Common  Sense  are  all  destroyed  ; 
Those  that  remain  are  fled  away  with  her. 
I  wish,  Mr.  Fustian,  this  speech  be  conmion  sense. 

Sneer.    How  the  devil  should  it,  when  she 's  dead  ? 

Fust.  One  would  think  so,  when  a  cavil  is  made 
against  the  best  thing  in  the  whole  play ;  and  I  would 
willingly  part  with  anything  else  but  those  two  lines. 

Harl.  Behold!  where  welfring  in  her  blood  she  lies. 
I  wish,  sir,  you  would  cut  out  that  line,  or  alter  it, 
if  you  please. 

Fust.  That's  another  line  that  I  won't  part  with; 
I  would  consent  to  cut  out  anything  but  the  chief 
beauties  of  my  play. 

Harl.    Behold  the  bloody  dagger  by  her  side, 
With  which  she  did  the  deed. 

Q.  Ign.  'Twas  nobly  done! 

I  envy  her  her  exit,  and  will  pay 
All  honours  to  her  dust.     Bear  hence  her  body, 
And  let  her  lie  in  state  in  Goodman's  fields. 

Enter  Messenger. 

Mess.    Madam,  I  come  an  envoy  from  Crane-court. 
The  great  society  that  there  assemble 
Congratulate  your  victory,  and  request 
That  firm  alliance  henceforth  may  subsist 
Between  your  majesty's  society 
Of  Grub-street  and  themselves  :  they  rather  beg 
voL.li.— 13  [193] 


PASQUIN 

That  they  may  be  united  both  in  one. 
They  also  hope  your  majesty's  acceptance 
Of  certain  curiosities,  which  in 
That  hamper  are  contained,  wherein  you  '11  find 
A  horse's  tail,  which  has  a  hundred  hairs 
More  than  are  usual  in  it ;  and  a  tooth 
Of  elephant  full  half  an  inch  too  long  ; 
With  turnpike-ticket  like  an  ancient  coin. 

Q.  Ign.  We  gratefully  accept  their  bounteous  gifts, 
And  order  they  be  kept  with  proper  care, 
Till  we  do  build  a  place  most  fit  to  hold 
These  precious  toys  :  tell  your  society 
We  ever  did  esteem  them  of  great  worth, 
And  our  firm  friends  :  and  tell  'em  't  is  our  pleasure 
They  do  prepare  to  dance  a  jig  before  us. 

l^Exit  Messenger. 
My  lords  of  Law  and  Physick,  you  shall  find 
I  will  not  be  ungrateful  for  your  service : 
To  you,  good  Harlequin,  and  your  allies, 
And  vou,,Squeekaronelly,  I  will  be 
A  most  propitious  queen  —  But  ha  ! 

\^Music  tinder  the  stage. 
What  hideous  music  or  what  yell  is  this  ? 
Sure  't  is  the  ghost  of  some  poor  opera  tune. 

Sneer.    The  ghost  of  a  tune,  Mr.  Fustian ! 

Fust.  Ay,  sir,  did  you  never  hear  one  before  ?  I 
had  once  a  mind  to  have  brought  the  apparition  of 
Musick  in  person  upon  the  stage,  in  the  shape  of  an 
English  opera.  Come,  Mr.  Ghost  of  the  Tune,  if  you 
please  to  appear  in  the  sound  of  soft  musick,  and  let 
the  ghost  of  Common  Sense  rise  to  it. 

[Ghost  of  Common  Sense  rises  to  soft  musick. 
[194] 


PASQUIN 

Ghost.  Behold  the  ghost  of  Common  Sense  appears. 
Caitiffs,  avaunt !  or  I  will  sweep  you  off, 
And  clean  the  land  from  such  infernal  vermin. 

Q.  Ign.   A  ghost !  a  ghost !  a  ghost !  haste,  scam- 
per off, 
My  friends  ;  we  Ve  kill'd  the  body,  and  I  know 
The  ghost  will  have  no  mercy  upon  us. 

Omnes.    A  ghost !  a  ghost !  a  ghost !        [Run  off. 

Ghost.     The  coast  is  clear,  and  to  her  native  realms 
Pale  Ignorance  with  all  her  host  is  fled, 
Whence  she  will  never  dare  invade  us  more. 
Here,  though  a  gliost,  I  will  my  power  maintain, 
And  all  the  friends  of  Ignorance  shall  find 
My  ghost,  at  least,  they  cannot  banish  hence ; 
And  all  henceforth,  who  murder  Common  Sense, 
Learn  from  these  scenes  that,  though  success  you  boast, 
You  shall  at  last  be  haunted  with  her  ghost. 

Sneer.  I  am  glad  you  make  Common  Sense  get  the 
better  at  last ;  I  was  under  terrible  apprehensions  for 
your  moral. 

Fiist.  Faith,  sir,  this  is  almost  the  only  play  where 
she  has  got  the  better  lately.  But  now  for  my  epi- 
logue :  if  you  please  to  begin,  madam. 

EPILOGUE. 

Ghost. 

The  play  once  done,  the  epilogue,  by  rule. 
Should  come  and  turn  it  all  to  ridicule  ; 
Should  tell  the  ladies  that  the  tragic  bards, 
Who  prate  of  Virtue  and  her  vast  rewards, 
Are  all  in  jest,  and  only  fools  should  heed  'em  ; 
For  all  wise  women  flock  to  mother  Needham. 

[195] 


PASQUIN 

This  is  the  method  epilogues  pursue, 

But  we  to-night  in  everything  are  new. 

Our  author  then,  in  jest  throughout  the  play, 

Now  begs  a  serious  word  or  two  to  say. 

Banish  all  childish  entertainments  hence  ;  \ 

Let  all  that  boast  your  favour  have  pretence,      > 

If  not  to  sparkling  wit,  at  least  to  sense.  J 

With  soft  Italian  notes  indulge  your  ear  ; 

But  let  those  singers,  who  are  bought  so  dear, 

Learn  to  be  civil  for  their  cheer  at  least. 

Nor  use  like  beggars  those  who  give  the  feast. 

And  though  while  nmsick  for  herself  may  carve, 

Poor  Poetry,  her  sister-art,  must  starve  ; 

Starve  her  at  least  with  shew  of  approbation. 

Nor  slight  her,  while  you  search  the  whole  creation 

For  all  the  tumbling-skum  of  every  nation. 

Can  the  whole  world  in  science  match  our  soil  ? 
Have  they  a  Locke,  a  Newton,  or  a  Boyle? 
Or  dare  the  greatest  genius  of  their  stage 
With  Shakspeare  or  immortal  Ben  engage  ? 

Content  with  nature's  bounty,  do  not  crave 
The  little  which  to  other  lands  she  gave  ; 
Nor  like  the  cock  a  barley  corn  prefer 
To  all  the  jewels  which  you  owe  to  her. 


[  196  j 


AN    ESSAY    OX    CONVERSATION 


AN   ESSAY   ON   CONVERSATION 

MAN  is  generally  represented  as  an  ani- 
mal formed  for,  and  delighted  in,  soci- 
ety ;  in  this  state  alone,  it  is  said,  his 
various  talents  can  be  exerted,  his 
numberless  necessities  relieved,  the  dangers  he  is 
exposed  to  can  be  avoided,  and  many  of  the  pleasures 
he  eagerly  affects  enjoyed.  If  these  assertions  be,  as 
I  think  they  are,  undoubtedly  and  obviously  certain, 
those  few  who  have  denied  man  to  be  a  social  animal 
have  left  us  these  two  solutions  of  their  conduct ; 
either  that  there  are  men  as  bold  in  denial  as  can  be 
'  found  in  assertion  —  and  as  Cicero  says  there  is  no 
absurdity  which  some  philosopher  or  other  hath  not 
asserted,  so  we  may  say  there  is  no  truth  so  glaring 
that  some  have  not  denied  it  ;  —  or  else  that  these 
rejectors  of  society  borrow  all  their  information  from 
their  own  savage  dispositions,  and  are,  indeed,  them- 
selves, the  only  exceptions  to  the  above  general 
rule. 

But  to  leave  such  persons  to  those  who  have  thought 
them  more  worthy  of  an  answer  ;  there  are  others  who 
are  so  seemingly  fond  of  this  social  state,  that  they 
are  understood  absolutely  to  confine  it  to  their  own 
species;  and  entirely  excluding  the  tamer  and  gen- 
tler, the  herding  and  flocking  parts  of  the  creation, 
from  all  benefits  of  it,  to  set  up  this  as  one  grand 

[199] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

general  distinction  between  the  human  and  the  brute 
species.  -- 

Shall  we  conclude  this  denial  of  all  society  to  the 
nature  of  brutes,  which  seems  to  be  in  defiance  of 
every  day's  observation,  to  he  as  bold  as  the  denial 
of  it  to  the  nature  of  men  ?  or,  may  we  not  more 
justly  derive  the  error  from  an  improper  under- 
standing of  this  word  society  in  too  confined  and 
special  a  sense  ?  in  a  word,  do  those  who  utterly  deny 
it  to  the  brutal  nature  mean  any  other  by  society 
than  conversation? 

Now,  if  we  comprehend  them  in  this  sense,  as  I 
think  we  very  reasonably  may,  the  distinction  appears 
to  me  to  be  truly  just ;  for  though  other  animals  are 
not  without  all  use  of  society,  yet  this  noble  branch  of 
it  seems,  of  all  the  inhabitants  of  this  globe,  confined 
to  man  only  ;  the  narrow  power  of  communicating 
some  few  ideas  of  lust,  or  fear,  or  anger,  which  may 
be  observable  in  brutes,  falling  infinitely  short  of  what 
is  commonly  meant  by  conversation,  as  may  be  de- 
duced from  the  origination  of  the  word  itself,  the 
only  accurate  guide  to  knowledge.  The  primitive  and 
literal  sense  of  this  word  is,  I  apprehend,  to  turn  round 
together  ;  and  in  its  more  copious  usage  we  intend  by 
it  that  reciprocal  interchange  of  ideas  by  which  truth 
is  examined,  things  are,  in  a  manner,  turned  round 
and  sifted,  and  all  our  knowledge  communicated  to 
each  other. 

In  this  respect  man  stands,  I  conceive,  distinguished 
from,  and  superior  to,  all  other  earthly  creatures ;  it 
is  this  privilege  which,  while  he  is  inferior  in  strength 
to  some,  in  swiftness  to    others  ;  without   horns  or 

[  200] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

claws  or  tusks  to  attack  them,  or  even  to  defend  him- 
self against  them,  hath  made  him  master  of  them  all. 
Indeed,  in  other  views,  however  vain  men  may  be  of 
their  abilities,  they  are  greatly  inferior  to  their  animal 
neighbours.  With  what  envy  must  a  swine,  or  a 
much  less  voracious  animal,  be  surveyed  by  a  glut- 
ton ;  and  how  contemptible  must  the  talents  of  other 
sensualists  appear,  when  opposed,  perhaps,  to  some 
of  the  lowest  and  meanest  of  brutes  !  but  in  conver- 
sation man  stands  alone,  at  least  in  this  part  of 
the  creation  ;  he  leaves  all  others  behind  him  at  his 
first  start,  and  the  greater  progress  he  makes  the 
greater  distance  is  between   them. 

Conversation  is  of  three  sorts.  Men  are  said  to 
converse  with  God,  with  themselves,  and  with  one 
another.  The  two  first  of  these  have  been  so  liberally 
and  excellently  spoken  to  by  others,  that  I  shall  at 
present  pass  them  by  and  confine  myself  in  this  essay 
to  the  third  only ;  since  it  seems  to  me  amazing  that 
this  grand  business  of  our  lives,  the  foundation  of 
everything  eitlier  useful  or  pleasant,  should  have  been 
so  slightly  treated  of,  that,  while  there  is  scarce  a 
profession  or  handicraft  in  life,  however  mean  and 
contemptible,  which  is  not  abundantly  furnislied  with 
proper  rules  to  the  attaining  its  perfection,  men  should 
be  left  almost  totally  in  the  dark,  and  without  the 
least  light  to  direct,  or  any  guide  to  conduct  them, 
in  the  proper  exerting  of  those  talents  wliich  are  the 
noblest  privilege  of  human  nature  and  productive  of 
all  rational  happiness  ;  and  the  rather  as  this  power 
is  by  no  means  self-instructed,  and  in  the  possession 
of  the  artless  and  ignorant  is  of  so  mean  use  that  it 

[201  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

raises  them  very  little  above  those  animals  who  are 
void  of  it. 

As  conversation  is  a  branch  of  society,  it  follo^\'s 
that  it  can  be  proper  to  none  who  is  not  in  his  nature 
social.  Now,  society  is  agreeable  to  no  creatures  who 
are  not  inoffensive  to  each  other ;  and  we  therefore 
observe  in  animals  who  are  entirely  guided  by  nature 
that  it  is  cultivated  by  such  only,  while  those  of  more 
noxious  disposition  addict  themselves  to  solitude,  and, 
unless  when  prompted  by  lust,  or  that  necessary  in- 
stinct implanted  in  them  by  nature  for  the  nurture 
of  their  young,  shun  as  much  as  possible  the  society 
of  their  own  species.  If  therefore  there  should  be 
found  some  human  individuals  of  so  savage  a  habit, 
it  would  seem  they  were  not  adapted  to  society,  and, 
consequently,  not  to  conversation  ;  nor  would  any 
inconvenience  ensue  the  admittance  of  such  excep- 
tions, since  it  would  by  no  means  impeach  the  general 
rule  of  man's  being  a  social  animal ;  especially  when 
it  appears  (as  is  sufficiently  and  admirably  proved  by 
my  friend  the  author  of  An  Enquiry  into  Happiness) 
that  these  men  live  in  a  constant  opposition  to  their 
own  nature,  and  are  no  less  monsters  than  the  most 
wanton  abortions  or  extravagant  births. 

Again  ;  if  society  requires  that  its  members  should 
be  inoffensive,  so  the  more  useful  and  beneficial  they 
are  to  each  other  the  more  suitable  are  they  to  the 
social  nature,  and  more  perfectly  adapted  to  its  insti- 
tution ;  for  all  creatures  seek  their  own  happiness, 
and  society  is  therefore  natural  to  any,  because  it  is 
naturally  productive  of  this  happiness.  To  render 
therefore  any  animal  social  is  to  render  it  inoffensive ; 

[202] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

an  instance  of  which  is  to  be  seen  in  those  the  fero- 
city of  whose  nature  can  be  tamed  by  man.  And 
here  the  reader  may  observe  a  double  distinction  of 
man  from  the  more  savage  animals  by  society,  and 
from  the  social  by  conversation. 

But  if  men  were  merely  inoffensive  to  each  other, 
it  seems  as  if  society  and  conversation  would  be 
merely  indifferent ;  and  that,  in  order  to  make  it 
desirable  by  a  sensible  being,  it  is  necessary  we  should 
go  farther  and  propose  some  positive  good  to  our- 
selves from  it ;  and  this  presupposes,  not  only  nega- 
tively, our  not  receiving  any  hurt,  but  positively,  our 
receiving  some  good,  some  pleasure  or  advantage, 
from  each  other  in  it,  something  which  we  could  not 
find  in  an  unsocial  and  solitary  state  ;  otherwise  we 
might  cry  out  with  the  right  honourable  poet  —  ^ 

Give  us  our  wildness  and  our  woods. 
Our  huts  and  caves  again. 

The  art  of  pleasing  or  doing  good  to  one  another 
is  thei-efore  the  art  of  conversation.  It  is  this  habit 
which  gives  it  all  its  value.  And  as  man's  being  a 
social  animal  (the  truth  of  which  is  incontestably 
proved  by  that  excellent  author  of  An  Enquiry,  &c., 
I  have  above  cited)  presupposes  a  natural  desire  or 
tendency  this  way,  it  will  follow  that  we  can  fail  in 
attaining  this  truly  desirable  end  from  ignorance 
only  in  the  means  ;  and  how  general  this  ignorance 
is  may  be,  with  some  probability,  inferred  from  our 
want  of  even  a  word  to  express  this  art  by  ;  that 
which  comes  the  nearest  to  it,  and  by  which,  per- 

*  The  Duke  of  Buckingham, 

[803  J 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

haps,  we  would  sometimes  intend  it,  being  so  horribly 
and  barbarously  corrupted,  that  it  contains  at  present 
scarce  a  simple  ingredient  of  what  it  seems  originally 
to  have  been  designed  to  express. 

The  word  I  mean  is  good  breeding ;  a  word,  I 
apprehend,  not  at  first  confined  to  externals,  much 
less  to  any  particular  dress  or  attitude  of  the  body  ; 
nor  were  the  qualifications  expressed  by  it  to  be  fur- 
nished by  a  milliner,  a  taylor,  or  a  perriwig-maker; 
no,  nor  even  by  a  dancing-master  himself.  Accord- 
ing to  the  idea  I  myself  conceive  from  this  word,  I 
should  not  have  scrupled  to  call  Socrates  a  well-bred 
man,  though,  I  believe,  he  was  very  little  instructed 
by  any  of  the  persons  I  have  above  enumerated. 
In  short,  by  good-breeding  (notwithstanding  the 
corrupt  use  of  the  word  in  a  very  different  sense)  I 
mean  the  art  of  pleasing,  or  contributing  as  much 
as  possible  to  the  ease  and  happiness  of  those  with 
whom  you  converse.  I  shall  contend  therefoi*e  no 
longer  on  this  head  ;  for,  whilst  my  reader  clearly 
conceives  the  sense  in  which  I  use  this  word,  it  will 
not  be  very  material  whether  I  am  right  or  wrong 
in  its  original  application. 

Good-breeding  then,  or  the  art  of  pleasing  in  con- 
versation, is  expressed  two  different  ways,  viz.,  in  our 
actions  and  our  words,  and  our  conduct  in  both  may 
be  reduced  to  that  concise,  comprehensive  rule  in 
scripture  —  Do  unto  all  men  as  you  would  they 
should  do  unto  you.  Indeed,  concise  as  this  rule  is, 
and  plain  as  it  appears,  what  are  all  treatises  on 
ethics  but  comments  upon  it  ?  and  whoever  is  well 
read  in  the  book  of  nature,  and  hath  made  much 

[204] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

observation  on  the  actions  of  men,  will  perceive  so 
few  capable  of  judging  or  rightly  pursuing  their  own 
happiness,  that  he  will  be  apt  to  conclude  that  some 
attention  is  necessary  (and  more  than  is  commonly 
used)  to  enable  men  to  know  truly  what  they  would 
have  done  unto  them,  or,  at  least,  what  it  would  be 
their  interest  to  have  done. 

If  therefore  men,  through  weakness  or  inattention, 
often  err  in  their  conceptions  of  what  would  produce 
their  own  happiness,  no  wonder  they  should  miss  in 
the  application  of  what  will  contribute  to  that  of 
others ;  and  thus  we  may,  without  too  severe  a 
censure  on  their  inclinations,  account  for  that  fre- 
quent failure  in  ti'ue  good-breeding  which  daily 
experience  gives  us  instances    of. 

Besides,  the  commentators  have  well  paraphrased 
on  the  above-mentioned  divine  rule,  that  it  is,  to 
do  unto  men  what  you  would  they  (if  they  were  in 
your  situation  and  circumstances,  and  you  in  theirs) 
should  do  unto  you  ;  and,  as  this  comment  is  neces- 
sary to  be  observed  in  ethics,  so  it  is  particularly 
useful  in  this  our  art,  where  the  degree  of  the  per- 
son is  always  to  be  considered,  as  we  shall  explain 
more  at  large  hereafter. 

We  see  then  a  possibility  for  a  man  well  disposed 
to  this  golden  rule,  without  some  precautions,  to  err 
in  the  practice  ;  nay,  even  good-nature  itself,  the 
very  habit  of  mind  most  essential  to  furnish  us  with 
true  good-breeding,  the  latter  so  nearly  resembling 
the  former,  that  it  hath  been  called,  and  with  the 
appearance  at  least  of  propi-ietv,  artificial  good- 
nature.      This    excellent    quality    itself    sometimes 

[  205  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

shoots  us  beyond  the  mark,  and  shews  the  truth  of 
those  lines  in  Horace  : 

Insani  sapiens  noraen  ferat,  aequus  iniqui, 
Ultr4  qukm  satis  est,  Virtutera  si  petat  ipsam. 

Instances  of  this  will  be  naturally  produced  where 
we  shew  the  deviations  from  those  rules  which  we 
shall    now  attempt  to  lay  down. 

As  this  good-breeding  is  the  art  of  pleasing,  it 
will  be  first  necessary  with  the  utmost  caution  to 
avoid  hurting  or  giving  any  offence  to  those  with 
whom  we  converse.  And  here  we  are  surely  to  shun 
any  kind  of  actual  disrespect,  or  affront  to  their 
persons,  by  insolence,  which  is  the  severest  attack 
that  can  be  made  on  the  pride  of  man,  and  of  which 
Florus  seems  to  have  no  inadequate  opinion  when, 
speaking  of  the  second  Tarquin,  he  says ;  in  ornnes 
siiperbia  {qucB  crudelitate  gravior  est  bonis)  grassatus ; 
"  He  trod  on  all  with  insolence,  which  sits  heavier 
on  men  of  great  minds  than  cruelty  itself."  If  there 
is  any  temper  in  man  which  more  than  all  others 
disqualifies  him  for  society,  it  is  this  insolence  or 
haughtiness,  which,  blinding  a  man  to  his  own  im- 
perfections, and  giving  him  a  hawk's  quicksighted- 
ness  to  those  of  others,  raises  in  him  that  contempt 
for  his  species  which  inflates  the  cheeks,  erects  the 
head,  and  stiffens  the  gaite  of  those  strutting  animals 
who  sometimes  stalk  in  assemblies,  for  no  other 
reason  but  to  shew  in  their  gesture  and  behaviour 
the  disregard  they  have  for  the  company.  Though 
to  a  truly  great  and  philosophical  mind  it  is  not 
easy  to  conceive  a  more  ridiculous  exhibition  than 

[206] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

this  puppet,  yet  to  others  he  is  Httle  less  than  a 
nuisance ;  for  contempt  is  a  murtherous  weapon,  and 
there  is  this  difference  only  between  the  greatest  and 
weakest  man  when  attacked  by  it,  that,  in  order  to 
wound  the  former,  it  must  be  just ;  whereas,  with- 
out the  shields  of  wisdom  and  philosophy,  which  God 
knows  are  in  the  possession  of  very  few,  it  wants  no 
justice  to  point  it,  but  is  certain  to  penetrate,  from 
whatever  corner  it  comes.  It  is  this  disposition 
which  inspires  the  empty  Cacus  to  deny  his  ac- 
quaintance, and  overlook  men  of  merit  in  distress ; 
and  the  little  silly,  pretty  Phillida,  or  Foolida,  to 
stare  at  the  strange  creatures  round  her.  It  is  this 
temper  which  constitutes  the  supercilious  eye,  the 
reserved  look,  the  distant  bowe,  the  scornful  leer, 
the  affected  astonishment,  the  loud  whisper,  ending 
in  a  laugh  dii-ected  full  in  the  teeth  of  another. 
Hence  spring,  in  short,  those  numberless  offences 
given  too  fi'equently,  in  public  and  private  assem- 
blies, by  pei'sons  of  weak  understandings,  indelicate 
habits,  and  so  hungry  and  foul-feeding  a  vanity  that 
it  wants  to  devour  whatever  comes  in  its  way.  Now, 
if  good-breeding  be  what  we  have  endeavoured  to 
prove  it,  how  foreign,  and  indeed  how  opposite  to  it, 
must  such  a  behaviour  be !  and  can  any  man  call  a 
duke  or  a  dutchess  who  wears  it  well-bred  ?  or  are 
they  not  more  justly  entitled  to  those  inhuman 
names  which  they  themselves  allot  to  the  lowest 
vulgar  ?     But  behold  a  more  pleasing  picture  on  the 

reverse.     See  the  earl  of  C ,  noble  in  his  birth, 

splendid  in  liis  fortune,  and  embellished  with  every 
endowment  of  mind  ;  how  affable !  how  condescend- 

[  207  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

ing !  himself  the  only  one  who  seems  ignorant  that 
he  is  every  way  the  greatest  person  in  the  room. 

But  it  is  not  sufficient  to  be  inoffensive —  we  must 
be  profitable  servants  to  each  other  :  we  are,  in  the 
second  place,  to  proceed  to  the  utmost  verge  in  pay- 
ing the  respect  due  to  others.  We  had  better  go  a 
little  too  far  than  stop  short  in  this  particular.  My 
lord  Shaftesbury  hath  a  pretty  observation,  that  the 
beggar,  in  addressing  to  a  coach  with,  My  lord,  is 
sure  not  to  offend,  even  though  there  be  no  lord 
there  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  should  plain  sir  fly  in 
the  face  of  a  nobleman,  what  must  be  the  conse- 
quence ?  And,  indeed,  whoever  considers  the  bustle 
and  contention  about  precedence,  the  pains  and 
labours  undertaken,  and  sometimes  the  prices  given, 
for  the  smallest  title  or  mark  of  pre-eminence,  and 
the  visible  satisfaction  betrayed  in  its  enjoyment, 
may  reasonably  conclude  this  is  a  matter  of  no  small 
consequence.  The  truth  is,  we  live  in  a  world  of 
common  men,  and  not  of  philosophers  ;  for  one  of 
these,  when  he  appears  (which  is  very  seldom)  among 
us,  is  distinguished,  and  very  properly  too,  by  the 
name  of  an  odd  fellow  ;  for  what  is  it  less  than  ex- 
treme oddity  to  despise  what  the  generality  of  the 
world  think  the  labour  of  their  whole  lives  well  em- 
ployed in  procuring  ?  we  are  therefore  to  adapt  our 
behaviour  to  the  opinion  of  the  generality  of  man- 
kind, and  not  to  that  of  a  few  odd  fellows. 

It  would  be  tedious,  and  perhaps  impossible,  to 
specify  every  instance,  or  to  lay  down  exact  rules 
for  our  conduct  in  every  minute  particular.  How- 
ever, I  shall  mention  some  of  the  chief  which  most 

[  208  ]   ^ 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

ordinarily  occur,  after  premising  that  the  business 
of  the  whole  is  no  more  than  to  convey  to  others  an 
idea  of  your  esteem  of  them,  which  is  indeed  the  sub- 
stance of  all  the  compliments,  ceremonies,  presents, 
and  whatever  passes  between  well-bred  people.  And 
here  I  shall  lay  down  these  positions  :  — 

First,  that  all  meer  ceremonies  exist  in  form  only, 
and  have  in  them  no  substance  at  all ;  but,  being 
imposed  by  the  laws  of  custom,  become  essential  to 
good-breeding,  from  those  high-flown  compliments 
paid  to  the  Eastern  monarchs,  and  which  pass  be- 
tween Chinese  mandarines,  to  those  coarser  cere- 
monials in  use  bet^veen  English  farmers  and  Dutch 
boors. 

Secondly,  that  these  cei'emonies,  poor  as  they  are, 
are  of  more  consequence  than  they  at  first  appear, 
and,  in  reality,  constitute  the  only  external  differ- 
ence between  man  and  man.  Thus,  His  grace.  Right 
honourable.  My  lord,  Right  reverend.  Reverend,  Hon- 
ourable, Sir,  Esquire,  Mr=,  &c.,  have  in  a  philosoph- 
ical sense  no  meaning,  yet  are  perhaps  politically 
essential,  and  must  be  preserved  by  good-breeding ; 
because. 

Thirdly,  they  raise  an  expectation  in  the  person 
by  law  and  custom  entitled  to  them,  and  who  will 
consequently  be  displeased  with  the  disappointment. 

Now,  in  order  to  descend  minutely  into  any  rules 
for  good-breeding,  it  will  be  necessary  to  lay  some 
scene,  or  to  throw  our  disciple  into  some  particular 
circumstance.  We  will  begin  them  with  a  visit  in 
the  country ;  and  as  the  principal  actor  on  this 
occasion  is  the  person  who  receives  it,  we  will,  as 
VOL.  11. -U  [209] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

briefly  as  possible,  lay  down  some  general  rules  for 
his  conduct ;  marking,  at  the  same  time,  the  prin- 
cipal deviations  we  have  observed  on  these  occasions. 

When  an  expected  guest  arrives  to  dinner  at  your 
house,  if  your  equal,  or  indeed  not  greatly  your  in- 
ferior, he  should  be  sure  to  find  your  family  in  some 
order,  and  yourself  dressed  and  ready  to  receive  him 
at  your  gate  with  a  smiling  countenance.  This  in- 
fuses an  immediate  chearfulness  into  your  guest,  and 
persuades  him  of  your  esteem  and  desire  of  his  com- 
pany. Not  so  is  the  behaviour  of  Polysperchon,  at 
whose  gate  you  are  obliged  to  knock  a  considerable 
time  before  you  gain  admittance.  At  length,  the 
door  being  opened  to  you  by  a  maid  or  some  im- 
proper servant,  who  wonders  where  the  devil  all  the 
men  are,  and,  being  asked  if  the  gentleman  is  at 
home,  answers  she  believes  so,  you  are  conducted 
into  a  hall,  or  back-parlour,  where  you  stay  some 
time  before  the  gentleman,  in  a  dishabille  from  his 
study  or  his  garden,  waits  upon  you,  asks  pardon, 
and  assures  you  he  did  not  expect  you  so  soon. 

Your  guest,  being  introduced  into  a  drawing-room, 
is,  after  tlie  first  ceremonies,  to  be  asked  whether  he 
will  refresh  himself  after  his  journey,  before  dinner 
(for  which  he  is  never  to  stay  longer  than  the  usual 
or  fixed  hour).  But  this  request  is  never  to  be  re- 
peated oftener  than  twice,  not  in  imitation  of  Cale- 
pus,  who,  as  if  hired  by  a  physician,  crams  wine  in 
a  morning  down  the  throats  of  his  most  temperate 
friends,  their  constitutions  being  not  so  dear  to  them 
as  their  present  quiet. 

When  dinner  is  on  the  table,  and  the  ladies  have 

[210  J 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

taken  their  places,  the  gentlemen  are  to  be  intro- 
duced into  the  eating-room,  where  they  are  to  be 
seated  with  as  much  seeming  indifference  as  possible, 
unless  there  be  any  present  whose  degrees  claim  an 
undoubted  precedence.  As  to  the  rest,  the  general 
rules  of  precedence  are  by  marriage,  age,  and  pro- 
fession. Lastly,  in  placing  your  guests,  regard  is 
rather  to  be  had  to  birth  than  fortune  ;  for,  though 
purse-pride  is  forward  enough  to  exalt  itself,  it 
bears  a  degradation  with  more  secret  comfort  and 
ease  than  the  former,  as  being  more  inwardly  satis- 
fied with  itself,  and  less  apprehensive  of  neglect  or 
contempt. 

The  order  in  helping  your  guests  is  to  be  regu- 
lated by  that  of  placing  them  ;  but  here  I  must, 
with  great  submission,  recommend  to  the  lady  at  the 
upper  end  of  the  table  to  distribute  her  favours  as 
equally  and  as  impartially  as  she  can.  I  have  some- 
times seen  a  large  dish  of  fish  extend  no  farther  than 
to  the  fifth  person,  and  a  haunch  of  venison  lose  all 
its  fat  before  half  the  table  had  tasted  it. 

A  single  request  to  eat  of  any  particular  dish, 
how  elegant  soever,  is  the  utmost  I  allow.  I  strictly 
prohibit  all  earnest  solicitations,  all  complaints  that 
you  have  no  appetite,  which  are  sometimes  little 
less  than  burlesque,  and  always  impertinent  and 
troublesome. 

And  here,  however  low  it  may  appear  to  some 
readers,  as  I  have  known  omissions  of  this  kind  give 
offence,  and  sometimes  make  the  offenders,  who  have 
been  very  well-meaning  persons,  ridiculous,  I  cannot 
help  mentioning  the  ceremonial  of  drinking  healths 

[211] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

at  table,  which  is  always  to  begin  with  the  lady's  and 
next  the  master's  of  the  house. 

When  dinner  is  ended,  and  the  ladies  retired, 
though  I  do  not  hold  the  master  of  the  feast  obliged 
to  fuddle  himself  through  complacence  (and,  indeed, 
it  is  his  own  fault  generally  if  his  company  be  such 
as  would  desire  it),  yet  he  is  to  see  that  the  bottle 
circulate  sufficient  to  afford  every  person  present  a 
moderate  quantity  of  wine  if  he  chuses  it ;  at  the 
same  time  permitting  those  who  desire  it  either  to 
pass  the  bottle  or  to  fill  their  glass  as  they  please. 
Indeed,  the  beastly  custom  of  besotting,  and  osten- 
tatious contention  for  pre-eminence  in  their  cups, 
seems  at  present  pretty  well  abolished  among  the 
better  sort  of  people.  Yet  Methus  still  remains, 
who  measures  the  honesty  and  understanding  of 
mankind  by  a  capaciousness  of  their  swallow;  who 
sings  forth  the  praises  of  a  bumper,  and  complains 
of  the  light  in  your  glass  ;  and  at  whose  table  it  is 
as  difficult  to  preserve  your  senses  as  to  preserve 
your  purse  at  a  gaming-table  or  your  health  at  a 
b — ^y-house.  On  the  other  side,  Sophronus  eyes  you 
carefully  whilst  you  are  filling  out  his  liquor.  The 
bottle  as  surely  stops  when  it  comes  to  him  as  your 
chariot  at  Temple-bar ;  and  it  is  almost  as  impos- 
sible to  carry  a  pint  of  wine  from  his  house  as  to 
gain  the  love  of  a  reigning  beauty,  or  borrow  a 
shilling  of  P W . 

But  to  proceed.  After  a  reasonable  time,  if  your 
guest  intends  staying  with  you  the  whole  evening, 
and  declines  the  bottle,  you  may  propose  play,  walk- 
ing, or  any  other  amusement ;  but  these  are  to  be  but 

[212  J 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

bai-ely  mentioned,  and  offered  to  his  choice  with  all 
indifference  on  your  part.  What  person  can  be  so 
dull  as  not  to  perceive  in  Ag}Ttes  a  longing  to  pick 
your  pockets,  or  in  Alazon  a  desire  to  satisfy  his  own 
vanity  in  shewing  you  the  rarities  of  his  house  and 
gardens  ?  When  your  guest  offers  to  go,  there  should 
be  no  solicitations  to  stay,  unless  for  the  whole  night, 
and  that  no  farther  than  to  give  him  a  moral  assur- 
ance of  his  being  welcome  so  to  do ;  no  assertions 
that  he  shan't  go  yet ;  no  laying  on  violent  hands  ; 
no  private  orders  to  servants  to  delay  providing  the 
horses  or  vehicles  —  like  Desmophylax,  who  never 
suffers  any  one  to  depart  from  his  house  without 
entitling  hira  to  an  action  of  false  imprisonment. 

Let  us  now  consider  a  little  the  part  which  the 
visitor  himself  is  to  act.  And  first,  he  is  to  avoid  the 
two  extremes  of  being  too  early  or  too  late,  so  as 
neither  to  surprise  his  friend  unawares  or  unprovided, 
nor  detain  him  too  long  in  expectation.  Orthrius, 
who  hath  nothing  to  do,  disturbs  your  rest  in  a 
morning  ;  and  the  frugal  Chronophidus,  lest  he  should 
waste  some  minutes  of  his  precious  time,  is  sure  to 
spoil  your  dinner. 

The  address  at  your  arrival  should  be  as  short  as 
possible,  especially  when  you  visit  a  superior ;  not 
imitating  Phlenaphius,  who  would  stop  his  friend  in 
the  rain  rather  than  omit  a  single  bowe. 

Be  not  too  observant  of  trifling  ceremonies,  such  as 
rising,  sitting,  walking  first  in  or  out  of  the  room, 
except  with  one  greatly  your  superior ;  but  when  such 
a  one  offers  you  precedence  it  is  uncivil  to  refuse  it ; 
of  which  I  will  give  you  tlie  following  instance  :  An 

[213] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

English  nobleman,  being  in  I'rance,  was  bid  by  Louis 
XIV.  to  enter  the  coach  before  him,  which  he  excused 
himself  from.  The  king  then  immediately  mounted, 
and,  ordering  the  door  to  be  shut,  drove  on,  leaving 
the  nobleman  behind  him. 

Never  refuse  anything  offered  you  out  of  civility, 
unless  in  preference  of  a  lady,  and  that  no  oftener  than 
once  ;  for  nothing  is  more  truly  good  breeding  than 
to  avoid  being  troublesome.  Though  the  taste  and 
humour  of  the  visitor  is  to  be  chiefly  considered,  yet 
is  some  regard  likewise  to  be  had  to  that  of  the  master 
of  the  house  ;  for  otherwise  your  company  will  be 
rather  a  penance  than  a  pleasure.  Methusus  plainly 
discovers  his  visit  to  be  paid  to  his  sober  friend's 
bottle  ;  nor  will  Philopasus  abstain  from  cards,  though 
he  is  certain  they  are  agreeable  only  to  himself;  whilst 
the  slender  Leptines  gives  his  fat  entertainer  a  sweat, 
and  makes  him  run  the  hazard  of  breaking  his  wind 
up  his  own  mounts. 

If  conveniency  allows  your  staying  longer  than  the 
time  proposed,  it  may  be  civil  to  offer  to  depart,  lest 
your  stay  may  be  incommodious  to  your  friend  ;  but 
if  you  perceive  the  contrary,  by  his  solicitations,  they 
should  be  readily  accepted,  without  tempting  him  to 
break  these  rules  we  have  above  laid  down  for  him  — 
causing  a  confusion  in  his  family  and  among  his 
servants,  by  preparations  for  your  departure.  Lastly, 
when  you  are  resolved  to  go,  the  same  method  is  to 
be  observed  which  I  have  prescribed  at  your  arrival. 
No  tedious  ceremonies  of  taking  leave  —  not  like 
Hypei-phylus,  who  bows  and  kisses  and  squeezes  by 
the  hand  as  heartily,  and  wishes  you  as  much  health 

[214] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

and  happiness,  when  he  is  going  a  journey  home  of 
ten  miles,  from  a  common  acquaintance,  as  if  he  was 
leaving  his  nearest  friend  or  relation  on  a  voyage  to 
the  East  Indies. 

Having  thus  briefly  considered  our  reader  in  the 
circumstance  of  a  private  visit,  let  us  now  take  him 
into  a  public  assembly,  where,  as  more  eyes  will  be 
on  his  behaviour,  it  cannot  be  less  his  interest  to 
be  instructed.  We  have,  indeed,  already  formed  a 
general  picture  of  the  chief  enormities  committed  on 
these  occasions :  we  shall  here  endeavour  to  explain 
more  particularly  the  rules  of  an  opposite  demeanour, 
which  we  may  di\  ide  into  three  sorts,  viz.,  our  be- 
haviour to  our  superiors,  to  our  equals,  and  to  our 
inferiors. 

In  our  behaviour  to  our  superiors  two  extremes  are 
to  be  avoided  ;  namely,  an  abject  and  base  servility, 
and  an  impudent  and  encroaching  freedom.  When 
the  well-bred  Hyperdulus  approaches  a  nobleman  in 
any  public  place,  you  would  be  persuaded  he  was  one 
of  the  meanest  of  his  domestics  ;  his  cringes  fall  little 
short  of  prostration  ;  and  his  whole  behaviour  is  so 
mean  and  servile  that  an  Eastern  monarch  would  not 
require  more  humiliation  from  his  vassals.  On  the 
other  side,  Anaischyntus,  whom  fortunate  accidents, 
without  any  pretensions  from  his  birth,  have  raised 
to  associate  with  his  betters,  shakes  my  lord  duke  by 
the  hand  with  a  familiarity  savouring  not  only  of 
the  most  perfect  intimacy  but  the  closest  alliance. 
The  former  behaviour  properly  raises  our  contempt, 
the  latter  our  disgust.  Hyperdulus  seems  worthy  of 
wearing  his  lordship's  livery  ;  Anaischyntus  deserves 

[215] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

to  be  turned  out  of  his  service  for  his  impudence. 
Between  these  two  is  that  golden  inean  which  declares 
a  man  ready  to  acquiesce  in  allowing  the  respect  due 
to  a  title  by  the  laws  and  customs  of  his  country,  but 
impatient  of  any  insult,  and  disdaining  to  purchase 
the  intimacy  with  and  favour  of  a  superior  at  the  ex- 
pence  of  conscience  or  honour.  As  to  the  question, 
who  are  our  superiors  ?  I  shall  endeavour  to  ascertain 
them  when  I  come,  in  the  second  place,  to  mention 
our  behaviour  to  our  equals  :  the  first  instiiaction  on 
this  head  being  carefully  to  consider  who  are  such  ; 
every  little  superiority  of  fortune  or  profession  being 
too  apt  to  intoxicate  men's  minds,  and  elevate  them 
in  their  own  opinion  beyond  their  merit  or  preten- 
sions. Men  are  superior  to  each  other  in  this  our 
country  by  title,  by  birth,  by  rank  in  profession,  and 
by  age  ;  very  little,  if  any,  being  to  be  allowed  to 
fortune,  though  so  much  is  generally  exacted  by  it 
and  commonly  paid  to  it.  Mankind  never  appear  to 
me  in  a  more  despicable  light  than  when  I  see  them, 
by  a  simple  as  well  as  mean  servility,  voluntarily  con- 
curring in  the  adoration  of  riches,  without  the  least 
benefit  or  prospect  from  them.  Respect  and  defer- 
ence are  perhaps  justly  demandable  of  the  obliged, 
and  may  be,  with  some  reason  at  least,  from  expecta- 
tion, paid  to  the  rich  and  liberal  from  the  necessitous ; 
but  that  men  should  be  allured  by  the  glittering  of 
wealth  only  to  feed  the  insolent  pride  of  those  who 
will  not  in  return  feed  their  hunger  —  that  the  sordid 
niggard  should  find  any  sacrifices  on  the  altar  of  his 
vanity  —  seems  to  arise  from  a  blinder  idolatry,  and 
a  more  bigoted  and  senseless  superstition,  than  any 

[216] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

which  the  sharp  eyes  of  priests  have  discovered  in  the 
human  mind. 

All  gentlemen,  therefore,  who  are  not  raised  above 
each  other  by  title,  birth,  rank  in  profession,  age,  or 
actual  obligation,  being  to  be  considered  as  equals, 
let  us  take  some  lessons  for  their  behaviour  to  each 
other  in  public  from  the  following  examples ;  in 
which  we  shall  discern  as  well  what  we  are  to  elect 
as  what  we  are  to  avoid.  Authades  is  so  absolutely 
abandoned  to  his  own  humour  that  he  never  gives 
it  u})  on  any  occasion.  If  Seraphina  herself,  whose 
charms  one  would  imagine  should  infuse  alacrity  into 
the  limbs  of  a  cripple  sooner  than  the  Bath  waters, 
was  to  offer  herself  for  his  partner,  he  would  answer 
he  never  danced,  even  though  the  ladies  lost  their 
ball  by  it.  Nor  doth  this  denial  arise  from  incapa- 
city, for  he  was  in  his  youth  an  excellent  dancer,  and 
still  retains  sufficient  knowledge  of  the  art,  and  suffi- 
cient abilities  in  his  limbs  to  practise  it,  but  from  an 
affijctation  of  gravity  which  he  will  not  sacrifice  to 
the  eagerest  desire  of  others.  Dyskolus  hath  the 
same  aversion  to  cards ;  and  though  competently 
skilled  in  all  games,  is  by  no  importunities  to  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  make  a  third  at  ombre,  or  a  fourth  at 
whisk  and  quadrille.  He  will  suffer  any  company  to 
be  disappointed  of  their  anmsement  rather  tlian  sub- 
mit to  pass  an  hour  or  two  a  little  disagreeably  to 
himself  The  refusal  of  Philautus  is  not  so  general; 
he  is  very  ready  to  engage,  provided  you  will  indulge 
him  in  his  favourite  game,  but  it  is  impossible  to 
persuade  him  to  any  other.  I  should  add  both  these 
are  men  of  fortune,  and  the  consequences  of  loss  or 

[217] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

gain,  at  the  rate  they  are  desired  to  engage,  very 
triflins  and  inconsiderable  to  them. 

The  rebukes  these  people  sometimes  meet  with  are 
no  more  equal  to  their  deserts  than  the  honour  paid 
to  Charistus,  the  benevolence  of  whose  mind  scarce 
permits  him  to  indulge  his  own  will,  unless  by  acci- 
dent. Though  neither  his  age  nor  understanding 
incline  him  to  dance,  nor  will  admit  his  receiving 
any  pleasure  from  it,  yet  would  he  caper  a  whole 
evening,  rather  than  a  fine  young  lady  should  lose 
an  opportunity  of  displaying  her  charms  by  the 
several  genteel  and  amiable  attitudes  which  this  ex- 
ercise affords  the  skilful  of  that  sex.  And  though 
cards  are  not  adapted  to  his  temper,  he  never  once 
baulked  the  inclinations  of  others  on  that  account. 

But,  as  there  are  many  who  will  not  in  the  least 
instance  mortify  their  own  humour  to  purchase  the 
satisfaction  of  all  mankind,  so  there  are  some  who 
make  no  scruple  of  satisfying  their  own  pride  and 
vanity  at  the  expence  of  the  most  cruel  mortification 
of  others.  Of  this  kind  is  Agroicus,  who  seldom  goes 
to  an  assembly  but  he  affronts  half  his  acquaintance 
by  overlooking  or  disregarding  them. 

As  this  is  a  very  common  offence,  and  indeed  much 
more  criminal,  both  in  its  cause  and  effect,  than  is 
generally  imagined,  I  shall  examine  it  very  minutely, 
and  I  doubt  not  but  to  make  it  appear  that  there  is 
no  behaviour  (to  speak  like  a  philosopher)  more  con- 
temptible, nor,  in  a  civil  sense,  more  detestable,  than 
this. 

The  first  ingredient  in  this  composition  is  pride, 
which,    according  to  the   doctrine  of  some,   is   the 

[218] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

universal  passion.  There  are  others  who  consider  it 
as  the  foible  of  great  minds  ;  and  others  again  who 
will  have  it  to  be  the  very  foundation  of  greatness ; 
and  perhaps  it  may  of  that  greatness  which  we  have 
endeavoured  to  expose  in  many  parts  of  these  works  ; 
but  to  real  greatness,  which  is  the  union  of  a  good 
heart  with  a  good  head,  it  is  almost  diametrically 
opposite,  as  it  generally  proceeds  from  the  depravity 
of  both,  and  almost  certainly  from  the  badness  of  the 
latter.  Indeed,  a  little  observation  will  shew  us  that 
fools  are  the  most  addicted  to  this  vice  ;  and  a  little 
reflexion  will  teach  us  that  it  is  incompatible  with 
true  understanding.  Accordingly  we  see  that,  while 
the  wisest  of  men  have  constantly  lamented  the 
imbecility  and  imperfection  of  their  own  nature,  the 
meanest  and  weakest  have  been  trumpeting  forth 
their  own  excellencies  and  triumphing  in  their  own 
sufficiency. 

Pride  may,  I  think,  be  properly  defined,  the  pleasure 
we  feel  in  contemplating  our  own  superior  merit,  on 
comparing  it  with  that  of  others.  That  it  arises 
from  this  supposed  superiority  is  evident ;  for,  how- 
ever great  you  admit  a  man's  merit  to  be,  if  all  men 
were  equal  to  him,  there  would  be  no  room  for 
pride.  Now  if  it  stop  here,  perhaps  there  is  no 
enormous  harm  in  it,  or  at  least  no  more  than  is 
common  to  all  other  folly ;  every  species  of  which 
is  always  liable  to  produce  every  species  of  mischief: 
folly  I  fear  it  is ;  for,  should  the  man  estimate 
rightly  on  this  occasion,  and  the  ballance  should 
fairly  turn  on  his  side  in  this  particular  instance  ; 
should  he  be  indeed  a  greater  orator,  poet,  general  j 

[319] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

should  he  be  more  wise,  witty,  learned,  young,  rich, 
healthy,  or  in  whatever  instance  he  may  excel  one,  or 
many,  or  all ;  yet,  if  he  examine  himself  thoroughly, 
will  he  find  no  reason  to  abate  his  pride  ?  is  the  qual- 
ity in  which  he  is  so  eminent,  so  generally  or  justly 
esteemed  ?  is  it  so  entirely  his  own  ?  doth  he  not 
rather  owe  his  superiority  to  tlie  defects  of  others 
than  to  his  own  perfection  ?  or,  lastly,  can  he  find  in 
no  part  of  his  character  a  weakness  which  may  coun- 
terpoise this  merit,  and  which  as  justly  at  least, 
threatens  him  with  shame  as  this  entices  him  to 
pride  ?  I  fancy,  if  such  a  scrutiny  was  made  (and 
nothing  so  ready  as  good  sense  to  make  it),  a  proud 
man  would  be  as  rai'e  as  in  reality  he  is  a  ridiculous 
monster.  But  suppose  a  man,  on  this  comparison, 
is,  as  may  sometimes  happen,  a  little  partial  to  him- 
self, the  harm  is  to  himself,  and  he  becomes  only 
ridiculous  from  it.  If  I  prefer  my  excellence  in 
poetry  to  Pope  or  Young ;  if  an  inferior  actor 
should,  in  his  opinion,  exceed  Quin  or  Garrick  ;  or 
a  sign-post  painter  set  himself  above  the  inimitable 
Hogarth,  we  become  only  ridiculous  by  our  vanity  : 
and  the  pei'sons  themselves  who  are  thus  humbled  in 
the  comparison,  would  laugh  with  more  reason  than 
any  other.  Pride,  therefore,  hitherto  seems  an  inof- 
fensive weakness  only,  and  entitles  a  man  to  no  worse 
an  appellation  than  that  of  a  fool ;  but  it  will  not 
stop  here  :  though  fool  be  perhaps  no  desirable  term, 
the  proud  man  will  deserve  worse ;  he  is  not  con- 
tented with  the  admiration  he  pays  himself,  he  now 
becomes  arrogant,  and  requires  the  same  respect  and 
preference  from   the   world ;   for  pride,  though   the 

[220] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVEKSATION 

greatest  of  flatterers,  is  by  no  means  a  profitable  ser- 
vant to  itself ;  it  resembles  the  parson  of  the  parish 
more  than  the  squire,  and  lives  rather  on  the  tithes, 
oblations,  and  contributions  it  collects  from  others 
than  on  its  own  demesne.  As  pride  therefore  is  sel- 
dom without  arrogance,  so  is  this  never  to  be  found 
without  insolence.  The  arrogant  man  must  be  inso- 
lent in  order  to  attain  his  own  ends ;  and,  to  con- 
vince and  remind  men  of  the  superiority  he  affects, 
will  naturally,  by  ill-words,  actions,  and  gestures, 
endeavour  to  throw  the  despised  person  at  as  much 
distance  as  possible  from  him.  Hence  proceeds  that 
supercilious  look  and  all  those  visible  indignities  with 
which  men  behave  in  public  to  those  whom  they 
fancy  their  inferiors.  Hence  the  very  notable  cus- 
tom of  deriding  and  often  denying  the  nearest  rela- 
tions, friends,  and  acquaintance,  in  poverty  and  dis- 
tress, lest  we  should  anywise  be  levelled  with  the 
wretches  we  despise,  either  in  their  own  imagination 
or  in  the  conceit  of  any  who  should  behold  famili- 
arities pass  between  us. 

But  besides  pride,  folly,  arrogance,  and  insolence, 
there  is  another  simple,  which  vice  never  willingly 
leaves  out  of  any  composition — and  this  is  ill-na- 
ture. A  good-natured  man  may  indeed  (provided 
he  is  a  fool)  be  proud,  but  arrogant  and  insolent  he 
cannot  be,  unless  we  will  allow  to  such  a  still  greater 
degree  of  folly  and  ignorance  of  human  nature  ;  which 
may  indeed  entitle  them  to  forgiveness  in  the  benign 
language  of  scripture,  because  they  know  not  what 
they  do. 

For,  when  we  come  to  consider  the  effect  of  this 

[221  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

behaviour  on  tlie  person  who  suffers  it,  we  may  per- 
haps have  reason  to  conclude  that  murder  is  not  a 
much  more  cruel  injury.  What  is  the  consequence 
of  this  contempt  ?  or,  indeed,  what  is  the  design  of 
it  but  to  expose  the  object  of  it  to  shame?  a  sensa- 
tion as  uneasy  and  almost  intolerable  as  those  which 
arise  from  the  severest  pains  inflicted  on  the  body ; 
a  convulsion  of  the  mind  (if  I  may  so  call  it)  which 
immediately  produces  symptoms  of  universal  disoider 
in  the  whole  man ;  which  hath  sometimes  been  at- 
tended with  death  itself,  and  to  which  death  hath, 
by  great  multitudes,  been  with  much  alacrity  pre- 
ferred. Now,  what  less  than  the  highest  degree  of 
ill-nature  can  permit  a  man  to  pamper  his  own  van- 
ity at  the  price  of  another's  shame  ?  Is  the  glutton, 
who,  to  raise  the  flavour  of  his  dish,  puts  some  birds 
or  beasts  to  exquisite  torment,  more  cruel  to  the 
animal  than  this  our  proud  man  to  his  own  species? 

This  character  then  is  a  composition  made  up  of 
those  odious,  contemptible  qualities,  pride,  folly,  arro- 
gance, insolence,  and  ill-nature.  I  shall  dismiss  it 
with  some  general  observations,  which  will  place  it 
in  so  ridiculous  a  light,  that  a  man  must  hereafter 
be  possessed  of  a  very  considerable  portion  either  of 
folly  or  impudence  to  assume  it. 

First,  it  proceeds  on  one  grand  fallacy  ;  for,  whereas 
this  wretch  is  endeavouring  by  a  supercilious  conduct 
to  lead  the  beholder  into  an  opinion  of  his  superi- 
ority to  the  despised  person,  he  inwardly  flatters  his 
own  vanity  with  a  deceitful  presumption  that  this 
his  conduct  is  founded  on  a  general  preconceived 
opinion  of  this  superiority. 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

Secondly,  this  caution  to  preserve  it  plainly  indi- 
cates a  doubt  that  the  superiority  of  our  own  char- 
acter is  very  slightly  established  ;  for  which  reason 
we  see  it  cliiefly  practised  by  men  who  have  the 
weakest  pretensions  to  the  reputation  they  aim  at; 
and,  indeed,  none  was  ever  freer  from  it  than  that 
noble  person  whom  we  have  already  mentioned  in 
this  essay,  and  who  can  never  be  mentioned  but  with 
honour  by  those  who  know  him. 

Thirdly,  this  opinion  of  our  superiority  is  com- 
monly very  erroneous.  Who  hath  not  seen  a  gen- 
eral behave  in  this  supercilious  manner  to  an  officer 
of  lower  rank,  who  hath  been  greatly  his  superior  in 
that  very  art  to  his  excellence  in  which  the  general 
ascribes  all  his  merit  ?  Parallel  instances  occur  in 
every  other  art,  science,  or  profession. 

Fourthly,  men  who  excel  others  in  trifling  instances 
frequently  cast  a  supercilious  eye  on  their  superiors 
in  tlie  highest.  Thus  the  least  pretensions  to  pre- 
eminence in  title,  birth,  riches,  equipages,  dress,  &c., 
constantly  overlook  the  most  noble  endowments  of 
virtue,  honour,  wisdom,  sense,  wit,  and  every  other 
quality  which  can  truly  dignify  and  adorn  a  man. 

Lastly,  the  lowest  and  meanest  of  our  species  are 
the  most  strongly  addicted  to  this  vice  —  men  who 
are  a  scandal  to  their  sex,  and  women  who  disgrace 
human  nature  ;  for  the  basest  mechanic  is  so  far 
from  being  exempt  that  he  is  generally  the  most 
guilty  of  it.  It  visits  ale-houses  and  gin-shops,  and 
whistles  in  the  empty  heads  of  fidlers,  mountebanks, 
and  dancing-n)afsters. 

To  conclude  a  character  on  which  we  have  already 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

dwelt  lon";er  than  is  consistent  with  the  intended 
measure  of  this  essay,  this  contempt  of  others  is  the 
truest  symptom  of  a  base  and  a  bad  heart.  While 
it  suggests  itself  to  the  mean  and  the  vile,  and  tickles 
their  little  fancy  on  every  occasion,  it  never  enters 
the  great  and  good  mind  but  on  the  strongest  mo- 
tives ;  nor  is  it  then  a  welcome  guest,  affording  only 
an  uneasy  sensation,  and  brings  always  with  it  a 
mixture  of  concern  and  compassion. 

We  will  now  proceed  to  inferior  criminals  in 
society,  Theoretus,  conceiving  that  the  assembly 
is  only  met  to  see  and  admire  him,  is  uneasy  unless 
he  engrosses  the  eyes  of  the  whole  company.  The 
giant  doth  not  take  more  pains  to  be  viewed  ;  and, 
as  he  is  unfortunately  not  so  tall,  he  carefully  de- 
posits himself  in  the  most  conspicuous  place ;  nor 
will  that  suffice  —  he  must  walk  about  the  room, 
though  to  the  great  disturbance  of  the  company ; 
and,  if  he  can  purchase  general  observation  at  no 
less  rate,  will  condescend  to  be  ridiculous ;  for  he 
prefers  being  laughed  at  to  being  taken  little  notice 
of 

On  the  other  side,  Dusopius  is  so  bashful  that  he 
hides  himself  in  a  corner ;  he  hardly  bears  being 
looked  at,  and  never  quits  the  first  chair  he  lights 
upon,  lest  he  should  expose  himself  to  public  view. 
He  trembles  when  you  bowe  to  him  at  a  distance,  is 
shocked  at  hearing  his  own  voice,  and  would  almost 
swoon  at  the  repetition  of  his  name. 

The  audacious  Anedes,  who  is  extremely  amorous 
in  his  inclinations,  never  likes  a  woman  but  his  eyes 
ask  her  the  question,  witliout  considering  the  con- 

[224  J 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

fusion  he  often  occasions  to  the  object;  he  ogles  and 
languishes  at  every  pretty  woman  in  the  room.  As 
there  is  no  law  of  morality  which  he  would  not  break 
to  satisfy  his  desires,  so  is  there  no  form  of  civility 
which  he  doth  not  violate  to  conimunicate  them. 
When  he  gets  possession  of  a  woman's  hand,  which 
those  of  stricter  decency  never  give  him  but  with 
reluctance,  he  considers  himself  as  its  master.  In- 
deed, there  is  scarce  a  familiarity  which  he  will 
abstain  from  on  the  slightest  acquaintance,  and  in 
the  most  public  place.  Seraphina  herself  can  make 
no  impression  on  the  rough  temper  of  Agroicus ; 
neither  her  quality  nor  her  beauty  can  exact  the 
least  complacence  from  him  ;  and  he  would  let  her 
lovely  limbs  ach  rather  than  offer  lier  his  chair  :  while 
the  gentle  Lyperus  tumbles  over  benches  and  over- 
throws tea-tables  to  take  up  a  fan  or  a  glove  ;  he 
forces  you,  as  a  good  parent  doth  his  child,  for  your 
own  good ;  he  is  absolute  master  of  a  lady''s  will, 
nor  will  allow  her  the  election  of  standing  or  sitting 
in  his  company.  In  short,  the  impertinent  civility 
of  Lyperus  is  as  troublesome,  though  perhaps  not  so 
offensive,  as  the  brutish  rudeness  of  Agroicus. 

Thus  we  have  hinted  at  most  of  the  common  enor- 
mities committed  in  public  assemblies  to  our  equals ; 
for  it  would  be  tedious  and  difficult  to  enumerate 
all  :  nor  is  it  needful  ;  since  from  this  sketch  we  may 
trace  all  others,  most  of  which,  I  believe,  will  be 
found  to  branch  out  from  some  of  the  particulars 
here  specified. 

I  am  now,  in  the  last  place,  to  consider  our  be- 
haviour to  our  inferiors,  in  which  condescension  can 
VOL.  II.  — 15  [  225  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

never  be  too  strongly  recommended  ;  for,  as  a  devia- 
tion on  this  side  is  much  more  innocent  than  on  the 
other,  so  the  pride  of  man  renders  us  much  less  liable 
to  it.  For,  besides  that  we  are  apt  to  overrate  our 
own  perfections,  and  undervalue  the  qualifications 
of  our  neighbours,  we  likewise  set  too  high  an  esteem 
on  the  things  themselves,  and  consider  them  as  con- 
stituting a  more  essential  difference  between  us  than 
tliey  really  do.  The  qualities  of  the  mind  do,  in 
reality,  establish  the  truest  superiority  over  one 
another :  yet  should  not  these  so  far  elevate  our 
pride  as  to  inflate  us  with  contempt,  and  make  us 
look  down  on  our  fellow-creatures  as  on  animals  of 
an  inferior  order ;  but  that  the  fortuitous  accident  of 
birth,  the  acquisition  of  wealth,  with  some  outward 
ornaments  of  dress,  should  inspire  men  with  an  in- 
solence capable  of  treating  the  rest  of  mankind  with 
disdain,  is  so  preposterous  that  nothing  less  than 
daily  experience  could  give  it  credit. 

If  men  were  to  be  rightly  estimated,  and  divided 
into  subordinate  classes  according  to  the  superior 
excellence  of  their  several  natures,  perhaps  the  lowest 
class  of  either  sex  would  be  properly  assigned  to 
those  two  disgraces  of  the  human  species,  commonly 
called  a  beau  and  a  fine  lady  ;  for,  if  we  rate  men 
by  the  faculties  of  the  mind,  in  what  degree  must 
these  stand  ?  nay,  admitting  the  qualities  of  the 
body  were  to  give  the  pre-eminence,  how  many  of 
those  whom  fortune  hath  placed  in  the  lowest  station 
must  be  ranked  above  them  ?  If  dress  is  their  only 
title,  sure  even  the  monkey,  if  as  well  dressed,  is  on 
as  high  a  footing  as  the  beau.     But  perhaps  I  shall 

[226] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

be  told  they  challenge  their  dignity  from  birth  ;  that 
is  a  poor  and  mean  pretence  to  honour  when  sup- 
ported with  no  other.  Persons  who  have  no  better 
claim  to  superiority  should  be  ashamed  of  this  ;  they 
are  really  a  disgrace  to  those  very  ancestors  from 
whom  they  would  derive  their  pride,  and  are  chiefly 
happy  in  this,  that  they  want  the  very  moderate 
portion  of  understanding  which  would  enable  them 
to  despise  themselves. 

And  yet  who  so  prone  to  a  contemptuous  carriage 
as  these  ?  I  have  myself  seen  a  little  female  tiling 
which  they  have  called  "  my  lady,"  of  no  greater 
dignity  in  the  order  of  beings  than  a  cat,  and  of  no 
more  use  in  society  than  a  butterfly ;  whose  mien 
would  not  give  even  the  idea  of  a  gentlewoman,  and 
whose  face  would  cool  the  loosest  libertine ;  with  a 
mind  as  empty  of  ideas  as  an  opera,  and  a  body 
fuller  of  diseases  than  an  hospital  —  I  have  seen 
this  thing  express  contempt  to  a  woman  who  was 
an  honour  to  her  sex  and  an  ornament  to  the 
creation. 

To  confess  the  truth,  there  is  little  danger  of  the 
possessor's  ever  undervaluing  this  titular  excellence. 
Not  that  I  would  withdraw  from  it  that  deference 
which  the  policy  of  government  hath  assigned  it. 
On  the  contrary,  I  have  laid  down  the  most  exact 
compliance  with  this  respect,  as  a  fundamental  in 
good-breeding;  nay,  I  insist  only  that  we  may  be 
admitted  to  pay  it,  and  not  treated  with  a  disdain 
even  beyond  what  the  eastern  monarchs  shew  to 
their  slaves.  Surely  it  is  too  high  an  elevation 
when,  instead  of  treating  the  lowest  human  creature, 

L227  j 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

in  a  Christian  sense,  as  our  brethren,  we  look  down 
on  such  as  are  but  one  rank  in  the  civil  order  re- 
moved from  us  as  unworthy  to  breathe  even  the  same 
air,  and  regard  the  most  distant  communication  with 
them  as  an  indignity  and  disgrace  offered  to  our- 
selves. This  is  considering  the  difference  not  in  the 
individual,  but  in  the  very  species ;  a  height  of  in- 
solence impious  in  a  Christian  society,  and  most 
absurd   and  ridiculous   in  a  trading  nation. 

I  have  now  done  with  my  first  head,  in  which  I 
have  treated  of  good-breeding,  as  it  regards  our 
actions.  I  shall,  in  the  next  place,  consider  it  with 
respect  to  our  words,  and  shall  endeavour  to  lay 
down  some  rules,  by  observing  which  our  well-bred 
man  may,  in  his  discourse  as  well  as  actions,  con- 
tribute to  the  happiness  and  well-being  of  society. 

Certain  it  is,  that  the  highest  pleasure  which  we 
are  capable  of  enjoying  in  conversation  is  to  be  met 
with  only  in  the  society  of  persons  whose  under- 
standing is  pretty  near  on  an  equality  with  our 
own ;  nor  is  this  equality  only  necessary  to  enable 
men  of  exalted  genius  and  extensive  knowledge  to 
taste  the  sublimer  pleasures  of  communicating  their 
refined  ideas  to  each  other ;  but  it  is  likewise  neces- 
sary to  the  inferior  happiness  of  every  subordinate 
degree  of  society,  down  to  the  very  lowest.  For 
instance ;  we  will  suppose  a  conversation  between 
Socrates,  Plato,  Aristotle,  and  three  dancing- masters. 
It  will  be  acknowledged,  I  believe,  that  the  heel 
sophists  would  be  as  little  pleased  with  the  company 
of  the  philosophers  as  the  philosophers  with  theirs. 

It  would  be  greatly,  therefore,  for  the  improve- 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

ment  and  happiness  of  convei-sation,  if  society  could 
be  formed  on  this  equality  ;  but,  as  men  are  not 
ranked  in  this  world  by  the  different  degrees  of  their 
understanding,  but  by  other  methods,  and  conse- 
quently all  degrees  of  understanding  often  meet  in 
the  same  class,  and  must  ex  necessitate  frequently 
converse  together,  the  impossibility  of  accomplishing 
any  such  Utopian  scheme  very  plainly  appears. 
Here  therefore  is  a  visible  but  unavoidable  imper- 
fection in  society  itself. 

But,  as  we  have  laid  it  down  as  a  fundamental 
that  the  essence  of  good-breeding  is  to  contribute  as 
much  as  possible  to  the  ease  and  happiness  of  man- 
kind, so  will  it  be  the  business  of  our  well-bred  man 
to  endeavour  to  lessen  this  imperfection  to  his 
utmost,  and  to  bring  society  as  near  to  a  level  at 
least  as  he  is  able. 

Now  there  are  but  two  ways  to  compass  this,  viz., 
by  raising  the  lower,  and  by  lowering  what  is 
higher. 

Let  us  suppose,  then,  that  very  unequal  company 
I  have  before  mentioned  met  ;  the  former  of  these 
is  apparently  impracticable.  Let  Socrates,  for  in- 
stance, institute  a  discourse  on  the  nature  of  the 
soul,  or  Plato  reason  on  the  native  beauty  of  virtue, 
and  Aristotle  on  his  occult  qualities  —  What  must 
become  of  our  dancing-masters  ?  Would  they  not 
stare  at  one  another  with  surprise,  and,  most  prob- 
ably, at  our  philosophers  with  contempt  ?  "Would 
they  have  any  pleasure  in  such  society  ?  or  would 
they  not  rather  wish  themselves  in  a  dancing-school, 
or  a  green-room  at  the  playhouse.?     What,  there- 

[  229  J 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

fore,  have  our  philosophers  to  do  but  to  lower  them- 
selves to  those  who  cannot  rise  to  them  ? 

And  surely  there  are  subjects  on  which  both  can 
converse.  Hath  not  Socrates  heard  of  harmony  ? 
Hath  not  Plato,  who  draws  virtue  in  the  person  of  a 
fine  woman,  any  idea  of  the  gracefulness  of  attitude  ? 
and  hath  not  Aristotle  himself  written  a  book  on 
motion  ?  In  short,  to  be  a  little  serious,  there  are 
many  topics  on  which  they  can  at  least  be  intelligible 
to  each  other. 

How  absurd,  then,  must  appear  the  conduct  of 
Cenodoxus,  who,  having  had  the  advantage  of  a 
liberal  education,  and  having  made  a  pretty  good 
progress  in  literature,  is  constantly  advancing  learned 
subjects  in  common  conversation  "t  He  talks  of  the 
classics  before  the  ladies,and  of  Greek  criticisms  among 
fine  gentlemen.  What  is  this  less  than  an  insult  on 
the  company  over  whom  he  thus  affects  a  superiority, 
and  whose  time  he  sacrifices  to  his  vanity.'* 

Wisely  different  is  the  amiable  conduct  of  Sophro- 
nus ;  who,  though  he  exceeds  the  former  in  knowl- 
edge, can  submit  to  discourse  on  the  most  trivial 
matters,  rather  than  introduce  such  as  his  company 
are  utter  strangers  to.  He  can  talk  of  fashions  and 
diversions  among  the  ladies  ;  nay,  can  even  conde- 
scend to  horses  and  dogs  with  country  gentlemen. 
This  gentleman,  who  is  equal  to  dispute  on  the 
highest  and  abstrusest  points,  can  likewise  talk  on  a 
fan  or  a  horse-race ;  nor  had  ever  any  one  who  was 
not  himself  a  man  of  learning,  the  least  reason  to 
conceive  the  vast  knowledge  of  Sophronus,  unless 
from  the  report  of  others. 

[  230  J 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

Let  us  compare  these  together.  Cenodoxus  pro- 
poses the  satisfaction  of  his  own  pride  from  the 
admiration  of  others ;  Sophronus  thinks  of  nothing 
but  their  amusement.  In  the  company  of  Ceno- 
doxus every  one  is  rendered  uneasy,  laments  his  own 
want  of  knowledge,  and  longs  for  the  end  of  the  dull 
assembly ;  with  Sophronus  all  are  pleased,  and  con- 
tented with  themselves  in  their  knowledge  of  matters 
which  they  find  worthy  the  consideration  of  a  man 
of  sense.  Admiration  is  involuntarily  paid  the 
former:  to  the  latter  it  is  given  joyfully.  The 
former  receives  it  with  envy  and  hatred ;  the  latter 
enjoys  it  as  the  sweet  fruit  of  good-will.  The  former 
is  shunned ;  the  latter  courted  by  all. 

This  behaviour  in  Cenodoxus  may,  in  some  meas- 
ure, account  for  an  observation  we  must  have  fre- 
quent occasion  to  make ;  that  the  conversation  of 
men  of  very  moderate  capacities  is  often  preferred  to 
that  of  men  of  superior  talents  ;  in  which  the  world 
act  more  wisely  than  at  first  they  may  seem  ;  for, 
besides  that  backwardness  in  mankind  to  give  their 
admiration,  what  can  be  duller  or  more  void  of 
pleasure  than  discourses  on  subjects  above  our  com- 
prehension.?  It  is  like  listening  to  an  unknown 
language  ;  and,  if  such  company  is  ever  desired  by 
us,  it  is  a  sacrifice  to  our  vanity,  which  imposes  on 
us  to  believe  that  we  may  by  these  means  raise  the 
general  opinion  of  our  own  parts  and  knowledge, 
and  not  from  that  cheerful  delight  which  is  the 
natural  result  of  an  agreeable  conversation. 

There  is  another  very  common  fault,  ecjually  de- 
structive of  this  delight,  bv  much  the  same  means, 

[23i  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

though  it  is  far  from  owing  its  original  to  any  real 
superiority  of  parts  and  knowledge  ;  this  is  discours- 
ing on  the  mysteries  of  a  particular  profession,  to 
which  all  the  rest  of  the  company,  except  one  or 
two,  are  utter  strangers.  Lawyers  are  generally 
guilty  of  this  fault,  as  they  are  more  confined  to  the 
conversation  of  one  another ;  and  I  have  known  a 
very  agreeable  company  spoilt,  where  there  have 
been  two  of  these  gentlemen  present,  who  have 
seemed  rather  to  think  themselves  in  a  court  of 
justice  than  in  a  mixed  assembly  of  persons  met 
only  for  the  entertainment  of  each  other. 

But  it  is  not  sufficient  that  the  whole  company 
understand  the  topic  of  their  conversation ;  they 
should  be  likewise  equally  interested  in  every  subject 
not  tending  to  their  general  information  or  amuse- 
ment ;  for  these  are  not  to  be  postponed  to  the 
relation  of  private  affairs,  much  less  of  the  particular 
grievance  or  misfortune  of  a  single  person.  To  bear 
a  share  in  the  afflictions  of  another  is  a  degree  of 
friendship  not  to  be  expected  in  a  common  acquaint- 
ance; nor  hath  any  man  a  right  to  indulge  the 
satisfaction  of  a  weak  and  mean  mind  by  the  com- 
fort of  pity  at  the  expence  of  the  whole  com- 
pany's diversion.  The  inferior  and  unsuccessful 
members  of  the  several  professions  are  generally 
guilty  of  this  fault ;  for,  as  they  fail  of  the  reward 
due  to  their  great  merit,  they  can  seldom  refrain 
fi-om  reviling  their  superiors,  and  complaining  of 
their  own   hard  and   unjust   fate. 

Farther,  as  a  man  is  not  to  make  himself  the  sub- 
ject of  the  conversation,  so  neither  is  he  to  engross 

[232] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

the  whole  to  himself.  As  every  man  had  rather 
please  others  by  what  he  says  than  be  himself  pleased 
by  what  they  say ;  or,  in  other  words,  as  every  man 
is  best  pleased  with  the  consciousness  of  pleasing, 
so  should  all  have  an  equal  opportunity  of  aiming 
at  it.  This  is  a  right  which  we  are  so  offended  at 
being  deprived  of,  that,  though  I  remember  to  have 
known  a  man  reputed  a  good  companion,  who 
seldom  opened  his  mouth  in  company,  unless  to 
swallow  his  liquor,  yet  I  have  scarce  ever  heard  that 
appellation  given  to  a  very  talkative  person,  even 
when  he  hath  been  capable  of  entertaining,  unless 
he  hath  done  this  with  buffoonery,  and  made  the 
rest  amends  by  partaking  of  their  scorn  together 
with  their  admiration  and  applause. 

A  well-bred  man,  therefore,  will  not  take  more  of 
the  discourse  than  falls  to  his  share ;  nor  in  this 
will  he  shew  any  violent  impetuosity  of  temper,  or 
exert  any  loudness  of  voice,  even  in  arguing ;  for  the 
information  of  the  company,  and  the  conviction  of 
his  antagonist,  are  to  be  his  apparent  motives ;  not 
the  indulgence  of  his  own  pride,  or  an  ambitious 
desire  of  victory  ;  which  latter,  if  a  wise  man  should 
entertain,  he  will  be  sure  to  conceal  with  his  utmost 
endeavour ;  since  he  must  know  that  to  lay  open  his 
vanity  in  public  is  no  less  absurd  than  to  lay  open 
his  bosom  to  an  enemy  whose  drawn  sword  is  pointed 
against  it ;  for  every  man  hath  a  dagger  in  his  hand 
ready  to  stab  the  vanity  of  another  wherever  he 
perceives  it. 

Having  now  shewn  that  the  pleasure  of  conversa- 
tion must  arise  from  the  discourse  being  on  subjects 

[233] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

levelled  to  the  capacity  of  the  whole  company  ;  from 
being  on  such  in  which  every  person  is  equally  inter- 
ested ;  from  every  one''s  being  admitted  to  his  share 
in  the  discourse  ;  and,  lastly,  from  carefully  avoiding 
all  noise,  violence,  and  impetuosity  ;  it  might  seem 
proper  to  lay  down  some  particular  rules  for  the  choice 
of  those  subjects  which  are  most  likely  to  conduce  to 
the  cheerful  delights  proposed  from  this  social  com- 
munication ;  but,  as  such  an  attempt  might  appear 
absurd,  from  the  infinite  variety,  and  perhaps  too 
dictatorial  in  its  nature,  I  shall  confine  myself  to 
rejecting  those  topics  only  which  seem  most  foreign 
to  this  delight,  and  which  are  most  likely  to  be  at- 
tended with  consequences  rather  tending  to  make 
society  an  evil  than  to  procure  us  any  good  from  it. 

And,  first,  I  shall  mention  that  which  I  have 
hitherto  only  endeavoured  to  restrain  within  certain 
bounds,  namely,  arguments  ;  but  which,  if  they  were 
entirely  banished  out  of  company,  especially  from 
mixed  assemblies,  and  where  ladies  make  part  of  the 
society,  it  would,  I  believe,  promote  their  happiness  ; 
they  have  been  sometimes  attended  with  bloodshed, 
generally  with  hatred  from  the  conquered  party  to- 
wards his  victor ;  and  scarce  ever  with  conviction. 
Here  I  except  jocose  arguments,  which  often  produce 
much  n)irth  ;  and  serious  disputes  between  men  of 
learning  (when  none  but  such  are  present),  which  tend 
to  the  propagation  of  knowledge  and  the  edification 
of  the  company. 

Secondly,  slander  :  which,  however  frequently  used, 
or  however  savoury  to  the  palate  of  ill-nature,  is  ex- 
tremely pernicious,  as  it  is  often  unjust  and  highly 

[234] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

injurious  to  the  person  slandered,  and  always  danger- 
ous, especially  in  large  and  mixed  companies,  where 
sometimes  an  undesigned  offence  is  given  to  an  inno- 
cent relation  or  friend  of  such  person,  who  is  thus 
exposed  to  shame  and  confusion,  without  having  any 
right  to  resent  the  affront.  Of  this  there  have  been 
very  tragical  instances  ;  and  I  have  myself  seen  some 
very  ridiculous  ones,  but  which  have  given  great  pain, 
as  well  to  the  person  offended,  as  to  him  who  hath 
been  the  innocent  occasion  of  givino;  the  offence. 

Thirdly,  all  general  reflections  on  countries,  reli- 
gions, and  professions,  which  are  always  unjust.  If 
these  are  ever  tolerable,  they  are  only  from  the  per- 
sons who  with  some  pleasantry  ridicule  their  own 
country.  It  is  very  common  among  us  to  cast  sar- 
casms on  a  neighbouring  nation,  to  which  we  have 
no  other  reason  to  bear  an  antipathy  than  what  is 
more  usual  than  justifiable,  because  we  have  injured 
it ;  but  sure  such  general  satire  is  not  founded  on 
truth  ;  for  I  have  known  gentlemen  of  that  nation 
possessed  with  every  good  quality  which  is  to  be 
wished  in  a  man  or  required  in  a  friend.  I  remem- 
ber a  repartee  made  by  a  gentleman  of  this  country, 
which,  though  it  was  full  of  the  severest  wit,  the  per- 
son to  whom  it  was  directed  could  not  resent,  as  he 
so  plainly  deserved  it.  He  had  with  great  bitterness 
inveighed  against  this  whole  people;  upon  which  one 
of  them  who  was  present  very  coolly  answered,  "  I 
don't  know,  sir,  whether  I  have  not  more  reason  to  be 
pleased  with  the  compliment  you  pay  my  country 
than  to  be  angry  with  what  you  say  against  it ;  since, 
by  your  abusing  us  all  so  heavily,  you  have  plainly 

[235] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

implied  you  are  not  of  it.'**  This  exposed  the  other 
to  so  much  laughter,  especially  as  he  was  not  unex- 
ceptionable in  his  character,  that  I  believe  he  was 
sufficiently  punished  for  his  ill-mannered  satire. 

Fourthly,  blasphemy,  and  iri'everent  mention  of 
religion.  I  will  not  here  debate  what  compliment 
a  man  pays  to  his  own  vmderstanding  by  the  pro- 
fession of  infidelity ;  it  is  sufficient  to  my  purpose 
that  he  runs  the  risque  of  giving  the  crudest  offence 
to  persons  of  a  different  temper ;  for,  if  a  loyalist 
would  be  greatly  affronted  by  hearing  any  indecencies 
offered  to  the  person  of  a  temporal  prince,  how  much 
more  bitterly  must  a  man  who  sincerely  believes  in 
such  a  being  as  the  Almighty,  feel  any  irreverence  or 
insult  shewn  to  His  name.  His  honour,  or  His  insti- 
tution .''  And,  notwithstanding  the  impious  charac- 
ter of  the  present  age,  and  especially  of  many  among 
those  whose  more  immediate  business  it  is  to  lead 
men,  as  well  by  example  as  precept,  into  the  ways 
of  piety,  there  are  still  sufficient  numbers  left  who 
pay  so  honest  and  sincere  a  reverence  to  religion,  as 
may  give  us  a  reasonable  expectation  of  finding  one 
at  least  of  this  stamp  in  every  lai'ge  company. 

A  fifth  particular  to  be  avoided  is  indecency.  We 
are  not  only  to  forbear  the  repeating  of  such  words 
as  would  give  an  immediate  affront  to  a  lady  of 
reputation,  but  the  raising  of  any  loose  ideas  tending 
to  the  offence  of  that  modesty  which,  if  a  young 
woman  hath  not  something  more  than  the  affectation 
of,  she  is  not  worthy  the  regard  even  of  a  man  of 
pleasure,  provided  he  hath  any  delicacy  in  his  con- 
stitution.    How  inconsistent  with  good-breeding  it 

[236] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

is  to  give  pain  and  confusion  to  sucli,  is  sufficiently 
apparent ;  all  doiible-entendres  and  obscene  jests  are 
therefoi'B  carefully  to  be  avoided  before  them.  But 
suppose  no  ladies  present,  nothing  can  be  meaner, 
lower,  and  less  productive  of  rational  mirth,  than 
this  loose  conversation.  For  my  own  part,  I  cannot 
conceive  how  the  idea  of  jest  or  pleasantry  came  ever 
to  be  annexed  to  one  of  our  highest  and  most  serious 
pleasures.  Nor  can  I  help  observing,  to  the  discredit 
of  such  merriment,  that  it  is  commonly  the  last  re- 
source of  impotent  wit,  the  weak  strainings  of  the 
lowest,  silliest,  and  dullest  fellows  in  the  world. 

Sixthly,  you  are  to  avoid  knowingly  mentioning 
anything  which  may  revive  in  any  person  the  re- 
membrance of  some  past  accident,  or  raise  an  uneasy 
reflection  on  a  present  misfortune  or  corporal  blem- 
ish. To  maintain  this  inile  nicely,  perhaps,  requires 
great  delicacy  ;  but  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  a  well- 
bred  man.  I  have  observed  numberless  breaches  of 
it ;  many,  I  believe,  proceeding  from  negligence  and 
inadvertency ;  yet  I  am  afraid  some  may  be  too 
justly  imputed  to  a  malicious  desire  of  triumphing 
in  our  own  superior  happiness  and  perfections  ;  now, 
when  it  proceeds  fi'om  this  motive  it  is  not  easy  to 
imagine  anything  more  criminal. 

Under  this  head  I  shall  caution  my  well-bred 
reader  against  a  common  fault,  much  of  the  same 
nature ;  which  is,  mentioning  any  particular  quality 
as  absolutely  essential  to  either  man  or  woman,  and 
exploding  all  those  who  want  it.  This  renders  every 
one  uneasy  who  is  in  the  least  self-conscious  of  the 
defect.     I  have  heard  a  boor  of  fashion  declare  in 

[  237  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

the  presence  of  women  remarkably  plain,  that  beauty 
was  the  chief  perfection  of  that  sex,  and  an  essential 
without  whicli  no  woman  was  worth  regarding ;  a 
certain  method  of  putting  all  those  in  the  room, 
who  are  but  suspicious  of  their  defect  that  way,  out 
of  countenance. 

I  shall  mention  one  fault  more,  which  is,  not  paying 
a  proper  regard  to  the  present  temper  of  the  company, 
or  the  occasion  of  their  meeting,,  in  introducing  a 
topic  of  conversation,  by  which  as  great  an  absurdity 
is  sometimes  committed,  as  it  would  be  to  sing  a  dirge 
at  a  wedding,  or  an  epithalamium  at  a  funeral. 

Thus  I  have,  I  think,  enumerated  most  of  the 
principal  errors  which  we  are  apt  to  fall  into  in 
conversation ;  and  though,  perhaps,  some  particulars 
worthy  of  remark  may  have  escaped  me,  yet  an  at- 
tention to  what  I  have  here  said  may  enable  the 
reader  to  discover  them.  At  least  I  am  persuaded 
that,  if  the  rules  I  have  now  laid  down  were  strictly 
observed,  our  conversation  would  be  more  perfect, 
and  the  pleasure  resulting  from  it  purer  and  more 
unsullied,  than  at  present  it  is. 

But  I  must  not  dismiss  this  subject  without 
some  animadversions  on  a  particular  species  of 
pleasantry,  which,  though  I  am  far  from  being  de- 
sirous of  banishing  from  conversation,  requires,  most 
certainly,  some  reins  to  govern,  and  some  rule  to 
direct  it.  The  reader  may  perhaps  guess  I  mean 
raillery  ;  to  which  I  may  apply  the  fable  of  the  lap- 
dog  and  the  ass  ;  for,  while  in  some  hands  it  diverts 
and  delights  us  with  its  dexterity  and  gentleness,  in 
others,  it  paws,  daubs,  offends,  and  hurts. 

[238] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

The  end  of  conversation  being  the  happiness  of 
mankind,  and  the  chief  means  to  procure  tlieir  de- 
light and  pleasure,  it  follows,  I  think,  that  nothing 
can  conduce  to  this  end  which  tends  to  make  a  man 
uneasy  and  dissatisfied  with  himself,  or  which  ex- 
poses him  to  the  scorn  and  contempt  of  others.  I 
here  except  that  kind  of  raillery,  therefore,  which  is 
concerned  in  tossing  men  out  of  their  chairs,  tum- 
bling them  into  water,  or  any  of  those  handicraft 
jokes  wliich  are  exercised  on  those  notable  persons 
connnonly  known  by  the  name  of  buffoons  ;  who  are 
contented  to  feed  their  belly  at  the  price  of  their 
br— ch,  and  to  carry  off  the  wine  and  the  p — ss  of  a 
great  man  together.  This  I  pass  by,  as  well  as  all 
remarks  on  the  genius  of  the  great  men  themselves, 
who  are  (to  fetch  a  phrase  from  school,  a  phrase  not 
improperly  mentioned  on  this  occasion)  great  dabs 
at  tin's  kind  of  facetiousness. 

But,  leaving  all  such  persons  to  expose  human 
nature  among  themselves,  I  shall  recommend  to  my 
well-bred  man,  who  aims  at  raillery,  the  excellent 
character  given  of  Horace  by  Persius  :  — 

Omne  vafer  vitium  ridenti  Flaccus  amico 
Tangit,  et  adiiiissus  circum  praecordia  ludit, 
Callidus  excusso  populura  suspendere  naso. 

Thus    excellently    rendered    by    the    late    ingenious 
translator  of  that  obscure  author  :  — 

Yet  could  shrewd  Horace,  with  disportive  wit. 

Rally  his  friend,  and  tickle  while  he  bit ; 

Winning  access,  he  play'd  around  the  heart, 

And,  gently  touching,  prick'd  the  tainted  part. 

The  crowd  he  sneer'd  ;  but  sneer'd  with  such  a  grace, 

It  pass'd  for  downright  innocence  of  face. 

[239] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

The  raillery  which  is  consistent  with  good-breed- 
ing is  a  gentle  animadversion  on  some  foible;  which, 
while  it  raises  a  laugli  in  the  rest  of  the  company, 
doth  not  put  the  person  rallied  out  of  countenance, 
or  expose  him  to  shame  and  contempt.  On  the 
contrary,  the  jest  should  be  so  delicate  that  the 
object  of  it  should  be  capable  of  joining  in  the  mirth 
it  occasions. 

All  great  vices  therefore,  misfortunes,  and  noto- 
rious blemishes  of  mind  or  body,  are  improper  sub- 
jects of  raillery.  Indeed,  a  hint  at  such  is  an  abuse 
and  an  affront  which  is  sure  to  give  the  person  (un- 
less he  be  one  shameless  and  abandoned)  pain  and 
uneasiness,  and  should  be  received  with  contempt,  in- 
stead of  applause,  by  all  the  rest  of  the  company. 

Again  ;  the  nature  and  quality  of  the  person  are 
to  be  considered.  As  to  the  first,  some  men  will  not 
bear  any  raillery  at  all.  I  remember  a  gentleman 
who  declared  he  never  made  a  jest,  nor  would  ever 
take  one.  I  do  not,  indeed,  greatly  reconnnend  such 
a  person  for  a  companion  ;  but  at  the  same  time, 
a  well-bred  man,  who  is  to  consult  the  pleasure  and 
happiness  of  the  whole,  is  not  at  liberty  to  make  any 
one  present  uneasy.  By  the  quality,  I  mean  the 
sex,  degree,  profession,  and  circumstances  ;  on  which 
head  1  need  not  be  very  particular.  With  regard 
to  the  two  former,  all  raillery  on  ladies  and  superiors 
should  be  extremely  fine  and  gentle  ;  and  with  re- 
spect to  the  latter,  any  of  the  rules  I  have  above 
laid  down,  most  of  which  are  to  be  applied  to  it, 
will  afford  sufficient  caution. 

Lastly,  a  consideration  is  to  be  had  of  the  persons 

[240] 


AN    ESSAY    OX    CONVERSATION 

before  whom  we  rally.  A  man  will  be  justly  uneasy 
at  being  reminded  of  those  railleries  in  one  company 
whicli  lie  would  very  patiently  bear  the  imputation 
of  in  another.  Instances  on  this  head  are  so  ob- 
vious that  they  need  not  be  mentioned.  In  short, 
the  wliole  doctrine  of  raillery  is  comprized  in  this 
famous  line  :  — 

"  Quill  de  quoque  viro,  et  crd  dicas,  saepe  caveto. " 
"  Be  cautious  wliat  you  say,  of  whom  and  to  whom." 

And  now,  niethinks,  I  hear  some  one  cry  out  thai 
such  restrictions  are,  in  effect,  to  exclude  all  raillery 
from  conversation  ;  and,  to  confess  the  truth,  it  is  a 
weapon  from  which  many  persons  will  do  wisely  in 
totally  abstaining ;  for  it  is  a  weapon  which  doth 
the  more  misciiief  by  how  much  the  blunter  it  is. 
The  sharpest  wit  therefore  is  only  to  be  indulged  the 
free  use  of  it,  for  no  more  than  a  very  slight  touch  is 
to  be  allowed;  no  hacking,  nor  bruising,  as  if  they  were 
to  hew  a  carcase  for  hounds,  as  Shakspeare  phrases  it. 

Nor  is  it  sufficient  that  it  be  sharp,  it  must  be  used 
likewise  with  the  utmost  tenderness  and  good-nature; 
and,  as  the  nicest  dexterity  of  a  gladiator  is  shewn  in 
being  able  to  hit  without  cutting  deep,  so  is  this  of 
our  railler,  wlio  is  rather  to  tickle  than  wound. 

True  raillery  indeed  consists  either  in  playing  on 
peccadilloes,  which,  however  tlicy  may  be  censured 
by  some,  are  not  esteemed  as  really  blemishes  in  a 
character  in  the  company  where  they  are  made  the 
subject  of  mirth  ;  as  too  nuich  freedom  with  the 
bottle,  or  too  much  indulgence  with  women,  &c. 

Or,  secondly,  in  pleasantly  representing  real  good 
VOL.  II.  — 16  [  241  ] 


AN    ESSAY    ON    CONVERSATION 

qualities  in  a  false  light  of  shame,  and  bantering 
them  as  ill  ones.  So  generosity  may  be  treated  as 
prodigality  ;  oeconomy  as  avarice ;  true  courage  as 
foolliardiness  ;  and  so  of  the  rest. 

Lastly,  in  ridiculing  men  for  vices  and  faults  which 
they  are  known  to  be  free  from.  Thus  the  cowardice 
of  A — le,  the  dulness  of  Ch — d,  the  unpoliteness  of 
1) — ton,  may  be  attacked  without  danger  of  offence ; 
and  thus  Lyt — n  may  be  censured  for  whatever  vice 
or  folly  you  please  to  impute  to  him. 

And,  however  limited  these  bounds  may  appear  to 
some,  yet,  in  skilful  and  witty  hands,  I  have  known 
raillery,  thus  confined,  affcjrd  a  very  diverting,  as  well 
as  inoffensive,  entertainment  to  the  whole  company. 

I  shall  conclude  this  essay  with  these  two  obser- 
vations, whicli  I  think  may  be  clearly  deduced  from 
what  hath  been  said. 

First,  that  every  person  who  indulges  his  ill- 
nature  or  vanity  at  the  expense  of  others,  and  in 
introducing  uneasiness,  vexation,  and  confusion  into 
society,  however  exalted  or  high-titled  he  may  be, 
is  thorouo-hlv  ill-bred. 

Secondly,  that  whoever,  from  the  goodness  of  his 
disposition  or  understanding,  endeavours  to  his  ut- 
most to  cultivate  the  good-humour  and  happiness  of 
others,  and  to  contribute  to  the  ease  and  comfort 
of  all  his  acquaintance,  however  low  in  rank  fortune 
may  have  placed  him,  or  however  clumsy  he  may  be 
in  his  figure  or  demeanour,  hath,  in  the  truest  sense 
of  the  word,  a  claim  to  good-breeding. 


[242] 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

No.  13. 
TUESDAY,  January  28,  1746. 

Qui   non   recte  instituunt  atque  erudiunt   liberos,  non  solum 
liberis  sed  et  reipublicae  faciunt  injuriam.  —  Cicero. 

MR.  ADAMS  having  favoured  me  with 
a  second  letter,  I  shall  give  it  the 
public  without  any  apology.  If  any- 
thing in  it  should  at  first  a  little 
shock  those  readers  who  know  the  world  better,  I 
hope  they  will  make  allowances  for  the  ignorance 
and  simplicity  of  the  writer. 

TO   THE    TRUE    PATRIOT. 

My  worthy  Friend,  —  I  am  concerned  to  find,  by 
all  our  public  accounts,  that  the  rebels  still  continue 
in  the  land.  In  my  last  I  evidently  proved  that 
their  successes  were  owing  to  a  judgment  denounced 
acrainst  our  sins,  and  concluded  with  some  exhoi-tations 
for  averting  the  Divine  anger  by  the  only  methods 
which  suggested  themselves  to  my  mind.  These  ex- 
hortations, by  the  event,  I  perceive  have  not  had  that 
regard  paid  to  them  I  had  reason  to  expect.  Indeed, 
I  am  the   more  confirmed   in  this   conjecture,  by  a 

[  245  ] 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

lad  whom  I  lately  met  at  a  neighbouring  baronefs, 
where  I  sojourned  the  two  last  days  of  the  year,  with 
my  good  friend  Mr.  Wilson. 

This  lad,  whom  I  imagined  to  have  been  come 
from  school  to  visit  his  friends  for  the  holidays  (for 
though  he  is  perhaps  of  sufficient  age,  I  found, 
on  examination,  he  was  not  yet  qualified  for  the 
university),  is,  it  seems,  a  man  sui  juris;  and  is, 
as  I  gather  from  the  young  damsels.  Sir  John's 
daughters,  a  member  of  the  society  of  bmoes.  I 
know  not  whether  I  spell  the  word  right ;  for 
I  am  not  ashamed  to  say  I  neither  understand  its 
etymology  nor  true  import,  as  it  hath  never  once 
occurred  in  any  lexicon  or  dictionary  which  I  have 
yet  perused. 

AVhatever  this  society  may  be,  either  the  lad  with 
whom  I  communed  is  an  unworthy  member,  or  it 
would  become  the  government  to  put  it  down  by 
authority ;  for  he  uttered  many  things  during  our 
discourse  for  which  I  would  have  well  scourged  any 
of  the  youth  under  my  care. 

He  had  not  long  entered  the  chamber  before  he 
acquainted  the  damsels  that  he  and  his  companions 
had  carried  the  opera,  in  opposition  to  the  puts ;  by 
which  I  afterwards  learnt  he  meant  all  sober  and 
discreet  persons.  "  And  fags  ! "  says  he  (I  am  afraid, 
though,  he  made  use  of  a  worse  word),  "  we  expected 
the  bishops  would  have  interfered  ;  but  if  they  had 
we  should  have  silenced  them.'"  I  then  thought  to 
myself,  Strippling,  if  I  had  you  well  horsed  on  the 
back  of  another  lad,  I  would  teach  you  more  rever- 
ence to  their  lordships. 

[  246  ] 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

This  opera,  I  am  informed,  is  a  diversion  in  which 
a  prodigious  sum  of  money,  more  than  is  to  be  col- 
lected out  of  twenty  parishes,  is  lavished  away  on 
foreign  eunuchs  and  papists,  very  scandalous  to  be 
suffered  at  any  time,  especially  at  a  season  when  both 
war  and  famine  hang  over  our  heads. 

During  the  whole  time  of  our  repast  at  dinner  the 
young  gentleman  entertained  us  with  an  account  of 
several  drums  and  routs  at  which  he  had  been  pres- 
ent. These  are,  it  seems,  large  congregations  of  men 
and  women,  who,  instead  of  assembling  together  to 
hear  something  that  is  good,  nay,  or  to  divert  them- 
selves with  gambols,  which  might  be  allowed  now 
and  then  in  holiday  times,  meet  for  no  other  purpose 
but  that  of  gaming,  for  a  whole  guinea  and  nmch 
more  at  a  stake.  At  this  married  women  sit  up  all 
night,  nay,  sometimes  till  one  or  two  in  the  morning, 
neglect  their  families,  lose  their  money,  and  some, 
Mr.  Wilson  says,  have  been  suspected  of  doing 
even  worse  than  that.  Yet  this  is  suffered  in  a 
Christian  kingdom  ;  nay  {quod  prorsus  increilihile 
est),  the  holy  sabbath  is,  it  seems,  prostituted  to 
these  wicked  revellings;  and  card-playing  goes  on 
as  publickly  then  as  on  any  other  day ;  nor  is 
this  only  among  the  young  lads  and  damsels,  who 
might  be  supposed  to  know  no  better,  but  men  ad- 
vanced in  years,  and  grave  matrons,  are  not  ashamed 
of  being  caught  at  the  same  pastime.  0  tempora ! 
0  mores! 

When  grace  was  said  after  meat,  and  the  damsels 
departed,  the  lad  began  to  grow^  more  wicked.  Sir 
John,  who  is  an  honest  Englishman,  hath  no  other 

[247  ] 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

wine  but  that  of  Portugal.  This  our  hoioe  could  not 
chink ;  and  when  Sir  Jolni  very  nobly  declared  he 
scorned  to  indulge  his  palate  with  rarities,  for  which 
he  nnist  furnish  the  foe  witii  money  to  carry  on  a 
war  with  the  nation,  the  stripling  replied,  "Rat  the 
nation  !  "  (God  forgive  nie  for  repeating  such  words) 
"  I  had  rather  live  under  French  government  than  be 
debarred  from  French  wine.""  Oho,  my  youth !  if  I 
had  you  horsed,  thinks  I  again. —  But,  indeed.  Sir 
John  well  scourged  him  with  his  tongue  for  that  ex- 
pression, and  I  should  have  hoped  he  had  made  him 
ashamed,  had  not  his  subsequent  behaviour  shewn 
him  totally  void  of  grace.  For  when  Sir  John  asked 
him  for  a  toast,  which  you  know  is  another  word  for 
drinking  the  health  of  one's  friend  or  wife,  or  some 
person  of  public  eminence,  he  named  the  health  of 
a  married  woman,  filled  out  a  bumper  of  wine,  swore 
he  would  drink  her  health  in  vinegar,  and  at  last 
openly  profest  he  woJild  connnit  adultery  with  her 
if  he  could.  Proli  picdor!  Nay,  and  if  such  a  sin 
might  admit  of  any  aggravation,  she  is  it  seems  a 
lady  of  very  high  degree,  et  quidem,  the  wife  of  a 
lord. 

Et  dies  et  charta  dejicerent  si  omnia  vellum  percur- 
rere,  rnulta  quidem  impura  et  impudica  quce  memorare 
nefas,  recitavit.  Nor  is  this  youth,  it  seems,  a 
monster  or  prodigy  in  the  age  he  lives;  on  tJie 
contrary,  I  am  told  he  is  an  exemplar  only  of  all 
the  rest. 

But  I  now  proceed  to  what  must  surprize  you. 
After  he  had  spent  an  hour  in  rehearsing  all  the 
vices  to  which  youth  have  been  ever  too   much  ad- 

[248  j 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

dieted,  and  shewn  us  that  he  was  possessed  of  them 
all  —  Ut  qui  impudicus,  adulter,  g-aneo,  alea,  nianu, 
venire,  pene,  bona  patria  lacera.verat,  he  began  to  enter 
upon  politics : 

O  proceres  censore  opus  an  haruspice  nobis  ! 

This  stripling,  this  hozce,  this  rake,  discovered  like- 
wise all  the  wickedness  peculiar  to  age,  and  that  he 
had  not,  with  those  vices  which  proceed  from  tlie 
warmth  of  youth,  one  of  the  virtues  which  we  should 
naturally  expect  from  the  same  sanguine  disposition. 
He  sliewed  us  that  grey  hairs  could  add  nothing  but 
hypocrisy  to  him  ;  for  he  avowed  public  prostitution, 
laughed  at  all  honour,  public  spirit,  and  patriotism  ; 
and  gave  convincing  proofs  that  the  most  phlegmatic 
old  miser  upon  earth  could  not  be  sooner  tempted 
with  gold  to  perpetrate  the  most  horrid  ini([uities 
than   himself. 

Whether  this  youtli  be  {quod  vix  credo)  concerned 
himself  in  the  public  weal,  or  whether  he  have  his 
information  from  others,  I  hope  he  greatly  exceeded 
the  truth  in  what  he  delivered  on  this  subject ;  for 
was  he  to  be  believed,  the  conclusion  we  must  draw 
would  be,  that  the  only  concern  of  our  great  men, 
even  at  this  time,  was  for  places  and  pensions; 
that,  instead  of  applying  themselves  to  renovate 
and  restore  our  sick  and  diooping  commonweal, 
they  were  struggling  to  get  closest  to  her  heart, 
and,  like  leeches,  to  suck  her  last  drop  of  vital 
blood. 

I  hope,  however,  better  things,  and  that  this  lad 

[249j 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

deserves  a  good  rod  as  well  for  lying  as  for  all  his 
other  iniquity  ;  and  if  his  parents  do  not  take  care 
to  have  it  well  laid  on,  I  can  assure  them  they  have 
much  to  answer  for. 

Mr.  Wilson  now  found  me  grow  very  uneasy,  as, 
indeed,  I  had  been  from  the  beginning,  nor  could 
anything  but  respect  to  the  company  have  prevented 
me  from  correcting  the  boy  long  before ;  he  there- 
fore endeavoured  to  turn   the  discourse,  and  asked 
our  spark    when    he   left    London  ?     To    which    he 
answered,    the    Wednesday  before.      "How,    sir?"" 
said    I ;    "  travel   on    Christmas    Day  ? "     "  Was    it 
so.?"   says  he;  "fags!    that's    more   than   I   knew; 
but  why  not  ti-avel  on   Christmas  Day   as   well  as 
any  other  ? ''     "  Why  not  ? ""  said  I,  lifting  my  voice, 
for  I  had  lost  all  patience  ;   "  was  you  not  brought 
up  in  the  Christian  religion  P     Did  you  never  learn 
your  catechism  ? ""     He  then  burst  out  into  an  un- 
mannerly laugh,  and  so  provoked  me,  that  I  should 
certainly  have  smote  him,  had  I  not  laid  my  crab- 
stick  down  in  the  window,  and  had  not  Mr.  Wilson 
been  fortunately  placed  between  us,      "  Odso  !  Mr. 
Parson,"  savs  he,  "  are  you  there  ?     I  wonder  I  had 
not  smoked  you  before."     "  Smoke  me  !  "  answered 
I,  and  at  the  same  time  leaped  from   my  chair,  my 
wrath   being   highly  kindled.     At   which   instant  a 
jackanapes,  who  sat  on  my  left  hand,  whipped  my 
peruke  from   my  head,  which  I  no  sooner  perceived 
than  I  porrcctcd  him  a  remembrance  over  the  face, 
which  laid  him  sprawling  on  the  floor.     I  was  after- 
wards concerned  at  the  blow,  though  the  consequence 
was  only  a  bloody  nose,  and  the  lad,  who  was  a  com- 

[  250  ] 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

panion  of  the  other's,  and  had  uttered  many  wicked 
things,  wliich  I  pretermitted  in  my  narrative,  very 
well  deserved  correction. 

A  bustle  now  arose,  not  worth  recounting,  which 
ended  in  my  departure  with  Mr.  Wilson,  though  we 
had  purposed  to  tarry  there  that  night. 

In  our  way  home  we  both  lamented  the  peculiar 
hardiness  of  this  country,  which  seems  bent  on  its 
own  destruction,  nor  will  take  warning  by  any  visita- 
tion, till  the  utmost  wrath  of  Divine  vengeance  over- 
takes it. 

In  discoursing  upon  this  subject,  we  imputed 
much  of  the  present  profligacy  to  the  notorious 
want  of  care  in  parents  in  the  education  of  youth, 
who,  as  my  friend  informs  me,  with  very  httle  school- 
leai-ning,  and  not  at  all  instructed  (ne  minime  quiclem 
imhuti)  in  any  principles  of  religion,  virtue,  and 
morality,  are  brought  to  the  great  city,  or  sent  to 
travel  to  other  great  cities  abroad,  before  they  are 
twenty  years  of  age,  where  they  become  their  own 
masters,  and  enervate  both  their  bodies  and  minds 
with  all  sorts  of  diseases  and  vices  before  they  are 
adult. 

I  shall  conclude  with  a  passage  in  Aristotle's 
Politics,  lib.  viii.  cap.  i.  "Ort  ixev  ovv  ra>  vofxoOeTTj 
fxdXiaTa  TrpayfLarevreov  Trepl  rrjv  rwv  veoov  iraLheiav^ 
ovBeU  dv  a/jL(f)La/3T]r)](reL€.  koI  yap  ev  ral^  iroXeaiv  ov 
ytyvo/xevov  rovro,  ^Xd-meL  Ta<i  TroXtTeia?.  Which, 
for  the  sake  of  women,  and  those  few  gentlemen  who 
do  not  understand  Greek,  I  have  rendered  somewhat 
paraphrastically  in  the  vernacular :  —  "No  man  can 
doubt  but  that  the  education   of   youth  ought  to 

[251] 


THE    TRUE    PATRIOT 

be  the  principal  Ccare  of  every  legislator  ;  by  the 
neglect  of  which,  great  mischief  acci-ues  to  the  civil 
polity  in  every  city." 

I  am,  while  you  write  like  an  honest  man  and   a 
good  Christian,  your  hearty  friend  and  well-wisher, 

Abraham  Adams. 


[  252  ] 


THE  COVENT-GARDEN  JOURNAL 


THE  COVENT-GARDEN  JOUKNAL 

No.  10. 

TUESDAY,  February  4,  1752. 

At  nostri  proavi  Plautinos  et  numeros,  et 
Laiidavere  sales  ;  nimium  patienter  utruraque, 
Ne  dicam  stult^,  mirati. 

MODERNISED. 

In  former  times  this  tasteless,  silly  town 

Too  fondly  prais'd  Tom  D'Urfey  and  Tom  Brown. 

THE  present  age  seems  pretty  well  agreed 
in  an  opinion,  that  the  utmost  scope 
and  end  of  reading  is  amusement  only ; 
and  such,  indeed,  are  now  the  fashion- 
able books,  that  a  reader  can  propose  no  more  than 
mere  entertainment,  and  it  is  sometimes  very  well 
for  him  if  he  finds  even  this,  in  his  studies. 

Letters,  however,  were  surely  intended  for  a  much 
more  noble  and  profitable  purpose  than  this.  Writ- 
ers are  not,  I  presume,  to  be  considered  as  mere  jack- 
puddings,  whose  business  it  is  only  to  excite  laugh- 
ter: this,  indeed,  may  sometimes  be  intermixed  and 
served  up  with  graver  matters,  in  order  to  titillate 
the  palate,  and  to  recommend  wholesome  food  to  the 
mind  ;  and  for  this  purpose  it  hath  been  used  by 
many  excellent  authors  .  "  for  why,"  as  Horace  says, 

[255  ] 


THE    COVENT-GAllUEN    JOURNAL 

"  should  not  any  one  promulgate  truth  with  a  smile 
on  his  countenance  ?  "  Ridicule  indeed,  as  he  again 
intimates,  is  conmionly  a  stronger  and  better  method 
of  attacking  vice  than  the  severer  kind  of  satire. 

When  wit  and  humour  are  introduced  for  such 
good  purposes,  when  the  agreeable  is  blended  with 
the  useful,  then  is  the  writer  said  to  have  succeeded 
in  every  point.  Pleasantry  (as  the  ingenious  author 
of  Clarissa  says  of  a  story)  should  be  made  only  the 
vehicle  of  instruction ;  and  thus  romances  them- 
selves, as  well  as  epic  poems,  may  become  worthy 
the  perusal  of  the  greatest  of  men  :  but  when  no 
moral,  no  lesson,  no  instruction,  is  conveyed  to  the 
reader,  where  the  whole  design  of  the  composition  is 
no  more  than  to  make  us  laugli,  the  writer  comes 
very  near  to  the  character  of  a  buffoon  ;  and  his  ad- 
mirers, if  an  old  Latin  proverb  be  true,  deserve  no 
great  compliments  to  be  paid  to  their  wisdom. 

After  what  I  have  here  advanced  I  cannot  fairly,  I 
think,  be  represented  as  an  enemy  to  laughter,  or 
to  all  those  kinds  of  writing  that  are  apt  to  promote 
it.  On  the  contrary,  few  men,  I  believe,  do  more 
admire  the  works  of  those  great  masters  who  have 
sent  their  satire  (if  I  may  use  the  expression)  laugh- 
ing into  the  world.  Such  are  the  great  triumvirate, 
Lucian,  Cervantes,  and  Swift.  These  authors  I  shall 
ever  hold  in  the  highest  degree  of  esteem  ;  not  in- 
deed for  that  wit  and  humour  alone  which  they  all 
so  eminently  possest,  but  because  they  all  endeav- 
oured, with  the  utmost  force  of  their  wit  and  hu- 
mour, to  expose  and  extirpate  those  follies  and  vices 
which  chiefly  prevailed  in  their  several  countries,     I 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

would  not  be  thought  to  confine  wit  and  humour  to 
these  writers.  Shakspeare,  Moliere,  and  some  other 
authors,  have  been  blessed  with  the  same  talents, 
and  have  employed  them  to  the  same  purposes. 
There  are  some,  however,  who,  though  not  void  of 
these  talents,  have  made  so  wretched  a  use  of  them, 
that,  had  the  consecration  of  their  labours  been 
committed  to  the  hands  of  the  hangman,  no  good 
man  would  have  regretted  their  loss ;  nor  am  I 
afraid  to  mention  Rabelais,  and  Aristophanes  him- 
self, in  this  number.  For,  if  I  may  speak  my  opin- 
ion freely  of  these  two  last  writers,  and  of  their 
works,  their  design  appears  to  me  very  plainly  to 
have  been  to  ridicule  all  sobriety,  modesty,  decency, 
virtue,  and  religion,  out  of  the  world.  Now,  who- 
ever reads  over  the  five  great  writers  first  mentioned 
in  this  paragraph,  must  either  have  a  very  bad  head 
or  a  very  bad  heart  if  he  doth  not  become  both  a 
wiser  and  a  better  man. 

In  the  exercise  of  the  mind,  as  well  as  in  the  exer- 
cise of  the  body,  diversion  is  a  secondary  consid- 
eration, and  designed  only  to  make  that  agreeable 
which  is  at  the  same  time  useful,  to  such  noble  pur- 
poses as  health  and  wisdom.  But  what  should  we 
say  to  a  man  who  mounted  his  chamber-hobby,  or 
fought  with  his  own  shadow,  for  his  amusement 
only.?  how  much  more  absurd  and  weak  would  he 
appear  who  swallowed  poison  because  it  was  sweet  ? 

How  differently  did  Horace  think  of  study  from 
our  modern  readers  ! 

Quid  verum  atque  decens  euro  et  rogo,  et  omnis  in  hoc  sum  : 
Condo  et  compono,  quae  mox  deprornere  possini. 
VOL.  II.  —  17  [  257  ] 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

"  Truth  and  decency  are  my  whole  care  and  en- 
quiry. In  this  study  I  am  entirely  occupied;  these 
I  am  always  laying  up,  and  so  disposing  that  I  can 
at  any  time  draw  forth  my  stores  for  my  immediate 
use."  The  whole  epistle,  indeed,  from  which  I  have 
paraphrased  this  passage,  is  a  comment  upon  it,  and 
affords  many  useful  lessons  of  philosophy. 

When  we  are  employed  in  reading  a  great  and 
good  author,  we  ought  to  consider  ourselves  as 
searching  after  treasures,  which,  if  w-ell  and  regularly 
laid  up  in  the  mind,  will  be  of  use  to  us  on  sundry 
occasions  in  our  lives.  If  a  man,  for  instance, 
should  be  overloaded  with  prosperity  or  adversity 
(both  of  which  cases  are  liable  to  happen  to  us), 
who  is  there  so  very  wise,  or  so  very  foolish,  that,  if 
he  was  a  master  of  Seneca  and  Plutarch,  could  not 
find  great  matter  of  comfort  and  utility  from  their 
doctrines  ?  I  mention  these  rather  than  Plato  and 
Aristotle,  as  the  works  of  the  latter  are  not,  I  think, 
yet  completely  made  English,  and,  consequently,  are 
less  within  the  reach  of  most  of  mv  countrymen. 

But  p(>rhaps  it  may  be  asked,  will  Seneca  or  Plu- 
tarch make  us  laugh  ?  Perhaps  not ;  but  if  you  are 
not  a  fool,  my  worthy  friend,  which  I  can  hardly 
with  civility  suspect,  they  will  both  (the  latter  espe- 
cially) please  you  more  than  if  they  did.  For  my 
own  part,  I  declare,  I  have  not  read  even  Lucian 
himself  with  more  delight  than  I  have  Plutarch  \ 
but  surely  it  is  astonishing  that  such  scribblers  as 
Tom  Brown,  Tom  D'Urfey,  and  the  wits  of  our  age, 
should  find  readers,  while  the  writings  of  so  excel- 
lent, so  entertaining,  and  so  voluminous  an  author  as 

[258  J 


THE    COVENT-GARUEN    JOURNAL 

Plutarch  remain  in  the  world,  and,  as  I  apprehend, 
are  very  little  known. 

The  truth  I  am  afraid  is,  that  real  taste  is  a  qual- 
ity with  which  hvnnan  nature  is  very  slenderly 
gifted.  It  is  indeed  so  very  rare,  and  so  little 
known,  that  scarce  two  authors  have  agreed  in  their 
notions  of  it ;  and  those  who  have  endeavoured  to 
explain  it  to  others  seem  to  have  succeeded  only  in 
shewing  us  that  they  know  it  not  themselves.  If 
I  might  be  allowed  to  give  my  own  sentiments,  I 
should  derive  it  from  a  nice  harmony  between  the 
imagination  and  the  judgment ;  and  hence  perhaps 
it  is  that  so  few  have  ever  possessed  this  talent  in 
any  eminent  degree.  Neither  of  these  will  alone  be- 
stow it ;  nothing  is  indeed  more  common  than  to  see 
men  of  very  bright  imaginations,  and  of  very  accu- 
rate learning  (which  can  hardly  be  acquired  without 
judgment),  who  are  entirely  devoid  of  taste;  and 
Longinus,  who  of  all  men  seems  most  exquisitely  to 
have  possessed  it,  will  puzzle  his  reader  very  much 
if  he  should  attempt  to  decide  whether  imagination 
or  judgment  shine  the  brighter  in  that  inimitable 
critic. 

But  as  for  the  bulk  of  mankind,  they  are  clearly 
void  of  any  degree  of  taste.  It  is  a  cjuality  in  which 
they  advance  very  little  beyond  a  state  of  infancy. 
The  first  thing  a  child  is  fond  of  in  a  book  is  a 
picture,  the  second  is  a  story,  and  the  third  a  jest. 
Here  then  is  the  true  Pons  Asinorum,  which  very 
few  readers  ever  get  over. 

From  what  I  have  said  it  may  perhaps  be  thought 
to  appear  that  true  taste  is  the  real  gift  of  nature 

[259  1 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

only  ;  and  if  so,  some  may  ask  to  what  purpose  have 
I  endeavoured  to  show  men  that  they  are  without  a 
blessing  which  it  is  impossible  for  them  to  attain? 

Now,  though  it  is  certain  that  to  the  highest  con- 
summation of  taste,  as  well  as  of  every  other  excel- 
lence, nature  must  lend  much  assistance,  yet  great  is 
the  power  of  art,  almost  of  itself,  or  at  best  with 
only  slender  aids  from  nature  ;  and,  to  say  the  truth, 
there  are  very  few  who  have  not  in  their  minds  some 
small  seeds  of  taste.  "  All  men,"  says  Cicero,  "  have 
a  sort  of  tacit  sense  of  what  is  right  or  wrong  in  arts 
and  sciences,  even  without  the  help  of  arts."  This 
surely  it  is  in  the  power  of  art  very  greatly  to 
improve.  That  most  men,  therefore,  proceed  no 
farther  than  as  I  have  above  declared,  is  owing 
either  to  the  want  of  any,  or  (which  is  perhaps  yet 
worse)  to  an  improper  education. 

I  shall  probably,  therefore,  in  a  future  paper,  en- 
deavour to  lay  down  some  rules  by  which  all  men 
may  acquire  at  least  some  degree  of  taste.  In  the 
meanwhile,  I  shall  (according  to  the  method  ob- 
served in  inoculation)  recommend  to  my  readers,  as  a 
preparative  for  their  receiving  my  instructions,  a 
total  abstinence  from  all  bad  books.  I  do  therefore 
most  earnestly  intreat  all  my  young  readers  that 
they  would  cautiously  avoid  the  perusal  of  any  mod- 
ern book  till  it  hath  first  had  the  sanction  of  some 
wise  and  learned  man  ;  and  the  same  caution  I  pro- 
pose to  all  fathers,  mothers,  and  guardians. 

"  Evil  communications  corrupt  good  manners,"  is 
a  quotation  of  St,  Paul  from  Menander.  Evil  books 
corrupt  at  once  both  our  vianners  and  our  taste. 

[260] 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

No.  33. 

SATURDAY,  April  23,  1752. 

Odi  profanum  vulgus.  —  Hor. 
I  hate  profane  rascals. 

SIR,  —  In  this  very  learned  and  enlightened 
age,  in  which  authors  are  almost  as  num- 
erous as  booksellers,  I  doubt  not  but  jour 
correspondents  furnish  you  with  a  sufficient 
quantity  of  waste  paper.  I  perhaps  may  add  to  the 
heap  ;  for,  as  men  do  not  always  know  the  motive 
of  their  own  actions,  I  may  possibly  be  induced,  by 
the  same  sort  of  vanity  as  other  puny  authors  have 
been,  to  desire  to  be  in  print.  But  I  am  very  well 
satisfied  with  you  for  my  judge,  and  if  you  should 
not  think  proper  to  take  any  notice  of  the  hint  I 
have  here  sent  you,  I  shall  conclude  that  I  am  an 
impertinent  correspondent,  but  that  you  are  a  judi- 
cious and  impartial  critic.  In  my  own  defence,  how- 
ever, I  must  say  that  I  am  never  better  pleased  than 
when  I  see  extraordinary  abilities  employed  in  the 
support  of  His  honour  and  religion,  who  has  so 
bountifully  bestowed  them.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  I  wish  you  would  take  some  notice  of  the  char- 
acter, or  rather  story,  here  sent  you.  In  my  travels 
westward  last  sunnner  I  lay  at  an  inn  in  Somerset- 
shire, remarkable  for  its  pleasant  situation  and  the 
obliging  behaviour  of  the  landlord,  who,  though  a 
downright  rustic,  had  an  awkward  sort  of  politeness 

[261] 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

arising  froiTi  his  good-nature  that  was  very  pleasing, 
and,  if  I  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  was  a  sort 
of  good-breeding  undrcst.  As  I  intended  to  make 
a  pretty  long  journey  the  next  day,  I  rose  time 
enough  to  behold  that  glorious  luminary  the  sun  set 
out  on  his  course,  which,  by-the-by,  is  one  of  the 
finest  sights  the  eye  can  behold  ;  and,  as  it  is  a  thing 
seldom  seen  by  people  of  fashion,  unless  it  be  at  the 
theatre  at  Covent-garden,  I  could  not  help  laying 
some  stress  upon  it  here.  The  kitchen  in  this  inn 
was  a  very  pleasant  room  ;  I  therefore  called  for 
some  tea,  sat  me  in  the  window  that  I  might  enjoy 
the  prospect  which  the  country  afforded,  and  a  more 
beautiful  one  is  not  in  the  power  of  imagination  to 
frame.  This  house  was  situated  on  the  top  of  a 
hill ;  and  for  two  miles  below  it  meadows,  enlivened 
with  variety  of  cattle,  and  adorned  with  a  greater 
variety  of  flowers,  first  caught  my  sight.  At  the 
bottom  of  this  vale  ran  a  river  which  seemed  to 
j)romise  coolness  and  refreshment  to  the  thirsty 
cattle.  The  eye  was  next  presented  with  fields  of 
corn  that  made  a  kind  of  an  ascent  which  was  ter- 
minated by  a  wood,  at  the  top  of  which  appeared  a 
verdant  hill  situate  as  it  were  in  the  clouds  where 
the  sun  was  just  arrived,  and,  peeping  o'er  the  sum- 
mit, which  was  at  this  time  covered  with  dew,  gilded 
it  over  with  his  rays  and  terminated  my  view  in  the 
most  agreeable  manner  in  the  world.  In  a  word, 
the  elegant  simplicity  of  every  object  round  me 
filled  my  heart  with  such  gratitude,  and  furnished 
my  mind  with  such  pleasing  meditations,  as  made 
me  thank  Heaven   I  was   boi-n.     But  this  state  of 

[262  J 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

joyous  tranquillity  was  not  of  long  duration  :  I 
had  scarce  begun  my  breakfast,  when  my  ears  were 
saluted  with  a  genteel  whistle,  and  the  noise  of  a 
pair  of  slippers  descending  the  staircase ;  and  soon 
after  I  beheld  a  contrast  to  my  former  prospect, 
being  a  very  beauish  gentleman,  with  a  huge  laced 
hat  on,  as  big  as  Pistol's  in  the  play  ;  a  wig  some- 
what dishevelled,  and  a  face  which  at  once  gave  you 
a  perfect  idea  of  emptiness,  assurance,  and  intem- 
perance. His  eyes,  which  before  were  scarce  open, 
he  fixt  on  me  with  a  stare  which  testified  surprise, 
and  his  coat  was  immediately  thrown  open  to  dis- 
play a  very  handsome  second-hand  gold-laced  waist- 
coat. In  one  hand  he  had  a  pair  of  saddle-bags, 
and  in  the  other  a  hanger  of  mighty  size,  both  of 
which,  with  a  graceful  G — d  d — n  you,  he  placed 
upon  a  chair.  Then,  advancing  towards  the  land- 
lord, who  was  standing  by  me,  he  said,  "  By  G — d, 
landlord,  your  wine  is  damnable  strong."""  "  I  don't 
know,"  replied  the  landlord  ;  "  it  is  generally  reckoned 
pretty  good,  for  I  have  it  all  from  London."  — 
"  Pray,  who  is  your  wine  merchant  ?  "  says  the  man 
of  importance.  "  A  very  great  man,"  says  the  land- 
lord, "  in  his  way  ;  perhaps  you  may  know  him,  sir ; 
his  name  is  Kirby."  "  Ah,  what !  honest  Tom  ?  he 
and  I  have  cracked  many  a  bottle  of  claret  together  ; 
he  is  one  of  the  most  considerable  merchants  in  the 
city ;  the  dog  is  hellish  poor,  damnable  poor,  for  I 
don't  suppose  he  is  worth  a  farthing  more  than  a 
hundred  thousand  pound  ;  only  a  plum,  that 's  all ; 
he  is  to  be  our  lord-mayor  next  year."  "  I  ask  par- 
don, sir,  that  is  not  the  man,  for  our  Mr.  Kirby 's 

[263] 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

name  is  not  Thomas  but  Richard/''  "  Ay  !  "  says 
the  gentleman,  "that's  liis  brother;  they  are  part- 
ners together."  "  I  beheve,"  says  the  landlord,  "you 
are  out,  sir,  for  that  gentleman  has  no  brother." 
"  D — n  your  nonsense,  with  you  and  your  outs  ! " 
says  the  beau  ;  "  as  if  I  sliould  not  know  better  than 
you  country  puts  ;  I  who  have  lived  in  I^ondon  all 
my  lifetime."  "  I  ask  a  thousand  pardons,"  says  the 
landlord  ;  "  I  hope  no  offence,  sir."  "  No,  no,"  cries 
t!ie  other  ;  "  we  gentlemen  know  how  to  make  al- 
lowance for  your  country  breeding."  Then  stepping 
to  the  kitchen  door,  with  an  audible  voice  he  called 
the  ostler,  and  in  a  very  graceful  accent  said,  "  D — n 
your  blood,  you  cock-eyed  son  of  a  bitch,  bring 
me  my  boots!  did  not  you  hear  me  call.?"  Then 
turning  to  the  landlord  said,  "  Faith  !  that  Mr. 
What-de-callum,  tlie  exciseman,  is  a  damned  jolly 
fellow."  "  Yes,  sir,"  says  the  landlord,  "  he  is  a 
merryish  sort  of  a  man."  "  But,"  says  the  gentle- 
man, "  as  for  that  sclioolmaster,  he  is  the  queerest 
bitch  I  ever  saw  ;  he  looks  as  if  he  could  not  say 
boh  to  a  goose."  "  I  don't  know,  sir,"  says  the 
landlord  ;  "  he  is  reckoned  to  be  a  desperate  good 
schollard  about  us,  and  the  gentry  likes  him  vastly, 
for  he  understands  the  measurement  of  land  and 
timber,  knows  how  to  make  dials  and  such  things  ; 
and  for  ciphering  few  can  outdo  ""en."  "  Ay  !  "  says 
the  gentleman,  "  he  does  look  like  a  cipher  indeed, 
for  he  did  not  speak  three  words  all  last  night." 
The  ostler  now  produced  the  boots,  which  the  gentle- 
man taking  in  his  hand,  and  having  placed  himself 
in  the  chair,  addressed  in  the  following  speech  :  "  My 

[264] 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

good  friends,  Mr.  Boots,  I  tell  jou  plainly  that,  if 
you  plague  me  so  danmably  as  you  did  yesterday 
morning,  by  G —  I  '11  commit  you  to  the  flames  ;  stap 
my  vituals  !  as  my  lord  Huntingdon  says  in  the 
play."  He  then  looked  full  in  my  face,  and  asked 
the  landlord  if  he  had  ever  been  at  Drury-lane 
playhouse ;  which  he  answered  in  the  negative. 
"  What ! ""  says  he,  "  did  you  never  hear  talk  of 
Mr.  Garrick  and  king  Richard  ? ""  "  No,  sir,"  says 
the  landlord.  "  By  G  — ,■"  says  the  gentleman,  "  he 
is  the  cleverest  fellow  in  England."  He  then  spouted 
a  speech  out  of  King  Richard,  which  begins,  "  Give 
me  an  horse,"  Sec.  "  There,"  says  he,  "  that,  that  is 
just  like  Mr.  Garrick."  Having  pleased  himself 
vastly  with  this  performance,  he  shook  the  landlord 
by  the  hand  with  great  good-humour,  and  said,  "By 
G  —  you  seem  to  be  an  honest  fellow,  and  good 
blood  ;  if  you'll  come  and  see  me  in  London,  I  '11 
give  you  your  skinftd  of  wine,  and  treat  vou  with  a 
play  and  a  whore  every  night  you  stay.  1 11  show 
you  how  it  is  to  live,  my  boy.  But  here,  bring  me 
some  paper,  my  girl  ;  come,  let  us  have  one  of  your 
love-letters  to  air  my  boots."  Upon  which  the  land- 
lord presented  him  with  a  piece  of  an  old  newspaper. 
"  D — n  you  !  "  says  the  gent,  "  this  is  not  half 
enough  ;  have  you  never  a  Bible  or  Common  Prayer- 
book  in  the  house.?  Half  a  dozen  chapters  of 
Genesis,  with  a  few  prayers,  make  an  excellent  fire 
in  a  pair  of  boots."  "Oh!  Lord  forgive  you!" 
says  the  landlord  ;  "  sure  you  would  not  burn  such 
books  as  those  ?  "  "  No !  "  cries  the  spark  ;  "  where 
was  you  born  ?     Go  into  a  shop  of  London  and  buy 

[265] 


THE    COVENT-GAKDEN    JOURNAL 

some  butter  or  a  quartern  of  tea,  and  then  you  '11 
see  what  use  is  made  of  these  books."  "  Ay  ! "  says 
the  landlord,  "  we  have  a  saying  here  in  our  country 
that  'tis  as  sure  as  the  devil  is  in  London,  and  if  he 
was  not  there  they  could  not  be  so  wicked  as  they 
be."  Here  a  country  fellow  who  had  been  standing 
up  in  one  corner  of  the  kitchen  eating  of  cold  bacon 
and  beans,  and  who,  I  observed,  trembled  at  every 
oath  this  spark  swore,  took  his  dish  and  pot,  and 
marched  out  of  the  kitchen,  fearing,  as  I  afterwards 
learnt,  that  the  house  would  fall  down  about  his 
ears,  for  he  was  sure,  he  said,  "That  man  in  the 
gold-laced  hat  was  the  devil."  The  young  spark, 
having  now  displayed  all  his  wit  and  humour,  and 
exerted  his  talents  to  the  utmost,  thought  he  had 
sufficiently  recommended  himself  to  my  favour  and 
convinced  me  he  was  a  gentleman.  He  therefore 
with  an  air  addressed  himself  to  me,  and  asked  me 
which  way  I  was  travelling  ?  To  wliich  I  gave  him 
no  answer.  He  then  exalted  his  voice  ;  but,  at  my 
continuing  silent,  he  asked  the  landlord  if  I  was 
deaf.  Upon  which  the  landlord  told  him  he  did  not 
believe  the  gentleman  was  dunch,  for  that  he  talked 
very  well  just  now.  The  man  of  wit  whispered  in 
the  landlord's  ear,  and  said,  "  I  suppose  he  is  either 
a  parson  or  a  fool."  He  then  drank  a  dram,  observ- 
ing that  a  n)an  should  not  cool  too  fast ;  paid  six- 
pence more  than  his  reckoning,  called  for  his  horse, 
gave  the  ostler  a  shilling,  and  galloped  out  of  the 
inn,  thoroughly  satisfied  that  we  all  agreed  with  him 
in  thinking;  him  a  clever  fellow  and  a  man  of  j^reat 
importance.       The   landlord,   smiling,   took   up   his 

[266] 


THE    COVENT-GARDEN    JOURNAL 

money,  and  said  he  was  a  comical  gentleman,  but 
that  it  was  a  thousand  pities  he  swore  so  much  ;  if 
it  was  not  for  that,  he  was  a  very  good  customer, 
and  as  generous  as  a  prince,  ^or  that  the  night  be- 
fore he  had  treated  everybody  in  the  house.  I  then 
asked  him  if  he  knew  that  comical  gentleman,  as 
he  called  him  ?  "No,  really,  sir,"  said  the  landlord, 
"  though  a  gentleman  was  saying  last  night  that  he 
was  a  sort  of  rider  or  rideout  to  a  linendraper  at 
London."  This,  Mr,  Censor,  I  have  since  found  to 
be  true  ;  for,  having  occasion  to  buy  some  clotli,  I 
went  last  week  into  a  linendrapers  shop,  'n  which 
I  found  a  young  fellow  whose  decent  behaviour  and 
plain  dress  sliewed  he  was  a  tradesman.  Upon  look- 
ing full  in  his  face  I  thought  I  had  seen  it  before; 
nor  was  it  long  before  I  recollected  where  it  was,  and 
that  this  was  the  same  beau  I  had  met  with  in 
Somersetshire.  The  difference  in  the  same  man  in 
London,  where  he  was  known,  and  in  the  country, 
where  he  was  a  stranger,  was  beyond  expression ; 
and,  was  it  not  impertinent  to  make  observations  to 
you,  I  could  inlarge  upon  this  sort  of  behaviour ;  for 
I  am  firmly  of  opinion  that  there  is  neither  spiint 
nor  good  sense  in  oaths,  nor  any  wit  or  humour  in 
blasphemy.  But  as  vulgar  errors  require  an  abler 
pen  than  mine  to  correct  them,  I  shall  leave  that 
task  to  you,  and  am,  sir,  your  humble  servant, 

R.  S. 


[267] 


FAMILIAR   LETTERS 


FAMILIAR  LETTERS 

NOTE. 

(See  Introduction.) 

The  following  five  letters  were  given  me  by  the  Author  of  the 
preface.  I  should  have  thought  this  hint  unnecessary,  had 
not  much  nonsense  and  scurrility  been  unjustly  imputed  to 
him  by  the  good  judgment  or  goodr-nature  of  the  age.  They 
can  know  but  little  of  his  writings,  who  want  to  have 
them  pointed  out ;  but  they  know  much  less  of  him,  who 
impute  any  such  base  and  scandalous  productions  to  his 
pen. 

LETTER    FORTY- ONE 

A  LETTER  FROM  A  FRENCH  GENTLEMAN  TO  HIS  FRIEND 
IN  PARIS  ;  IN  IMITATION  OF  HORACE,  ADDISON,  AND 
ALL    OTHER    WRITERS    OF    TRAVELLING    LETTERS. 

Done  into  English. 
Monsieur,  — 

^  T  Whitehall  we  took  a  pair  of  oars  for  Put- 
/^L        ney.     These  we  had  indeed  some  diffi- 
/ — ^      culty  to  procure;   for  many  refused  to 
X        jk>  go  with  us  farther  than  Foxhall  or  Rane- 
lagh  Gardens.     At  last  we  prevailed  with  two  fel- 
lows for  three  half-crowns  to  take  us  on  board. 

I  have  been  told  there  was  formerlv  a  law  regulat- 
ing the  fares  of  these  people ;  but  that  is  to  be  sure 
obsolete.     I  think  it  pitv  it  was  not  revived. 

[271] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

As  the  weather  was  extremely  fine,  we  did  not 
regret  the  tide's  running  against  us,  since  by  that 
means  we  had  more  opportunity  of  making  observa- 
tions on  the  finest  river  in  the  world  except  the 
Seine. 

After  taking  a  survey  of  the  New  Bridge,  which 
must  be  greatly  admired  by  all  who  have  not  seen 
the  Pontneuf,  we  past  by  a  row  of  buildings,  not 
very  remarkable  for  their  elegance,  being  chiefly 
built  of  wood,  and  irregular.  Many  of  them  are 
supported  by  pillars ;  but  of  what  order  we  could 
not  plainly  discern. 

We  came  now  to  Lambeth,  where  is  a  palace  of 
the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury,  the  metropolitan  of 
England.  This  is  a  vast  pile  of  building,  not  very 
beautiful  indeed  in  its  structure,  but  wonderfully 
well  calculated,  as  well  to  signify,  as  to  answer  the 
use  for  which  it  was,  I  suppose,  originally  intended ; 
containing  a  great  number  of  little  apartments  for 
the  reception  of  travelling  and  distressed  Christians. 

Lambeth  is  perhaps  so  called  from  Lamb,  which 
is  the  type  of  meekness. 

The  next  place  of  note,  as  we  ascend  the  river,  is 
Fox-Hall,  or  rather  Fox-Hole,  the  first  syllable  of 
which  is  corrupted  into  Vaux  by  the  vulgar,  who  tell 
a  foolish  story  of  one  Vaux  who  resided  here,  and 
attempted  to  blow  up  the  Thames.  But  the  true 
reading  is  Fox-Hole,  as  appears  by  an  antient  piece 
of  painting,  representing  that  animal  whence  it  takes 
its  name,  and  which  is  now  to  be  seen  on  a  high 
wooden  pillar,  Anglkc  a  sign-post,  not  far  from  the 
landing-place. 

[  27^  ] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

A  very  little  farther  stands  Marble-Hall,  of  which 
we  had  a  full  view  from  the  water.  This  is  a  most 
august  edifice,  built  all  of  a  rich  marble,  which,  re- 
flecting the  sun-beams,  creates  an  object  too  dazzling 
for  the  sight. 

Having  passed  this,  we  were  entertained  with  a 
most  superb  piece  of  architecture  of  white,  or  rather 
yellow  brick.  This  belongs  to  one  of  the  bowgeoJM, 
as  do  indeed  most  of  the  villas  which  border  on  both 
sides  this  river,  and  they  tend  to  give  as  magnificent 
an  idea  of  the  riches  which  flow  in  to  these  people 
by  trade,  as  the  shipping  doth,  which  is  to  be  seen 
below  the  bridge  of  London. 

Hence  a  rantje  of  most  delicious  meadows  begins 
to  open,  which,  being  richly  enamelled  with  flowers 
of  all  kinds,  seem  to  contend  whether  they  shall  con- 
vey  most  pleasure  to  your  sight  or  to  your  smell. 
Our  contemplation  was  however  diverted  from  this 
scene  by  a  boat,  in  which  were  two  young  ladies  ex- 
tremely handsome,  who  accosted  us  in  son^e  phrase 
which  we,  who  thought  ourselves  pretty  good  masters 
of  the  English  tongue,  did  not  understand.  They 
were  answered  however  by  our  watermen,  who  after- 
wards told  us,  that  this  is  called  water-language ; 
and  consequently,  I  suppose,  not  to  be  learned  on 
shore. 

The  next  place  which  presents  itself  on  the  Surry 
side  (for  I  reserve  the  other  shore  for  my  return)  is 
the  pleasant  village  of  Battersea ;  the  true  reading 
of  which  we  conjectured  to  be  Rettersee  ;  and  that  it 
was  formerly  a  bishoprick,  and  had  the  preference  to 
Shelsee,  of  which  we  shall  speak  anon.  It  is  chiefiy 
VOL.  u.  — 18  [  273  ] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

famous  at  present  for  affording  a  retreat  to  one  of 
tlie  greatest  statesmen  of  his  time,  who  hath  here  a 
magnificent  palace. 

From  Bettersee,  verging  to  the  south-west,  stands 
Wanser,  as  it  is  vulgarly  called  ;  but  its  true  name 
was  undoubtedly  Windmill-Shore,  from  whence  it  is 
a  very  easy  corruption  ;  and  several  windmills  are  yet 
to  be  found  in  its  neighbourhood.  Here  are  to  be 
seen  a  parish  church,  and  some  houses;  but  it  is 
otherwise  httle  worth  the  curiosity  of  travellers. 

As  you  sail  from  hence,  two  lofty  towers  at  once 
salute  your  eyes  from  opposite  shores  of  the  river, 
divided  by  a  magnificent  wooden  bridge.  That  on 
the  Surry  shore  is  called  Putney  or  Putnigh,  a  fair 
and  beautiful  town,  consisting  principally  of  one 
vast  street,  which  extends  from  north  to  south,  and 
is  adorned  with  most  beautiful  buildings. 

Here  we  went  ashore,  in  order  to  regale  ourselves 
in  one  of  their  houses  of  entertainment,  as  they  are 
called ;  but  in  reality  there  is  no  entertainment  at 
them.  Heie  were  no  tarts  nor  cheesecakes,  nor  any 
sort  of  food  but  an  English  dish  called  bread  and 
cheese,  and  some  raw  flesh. 

But  if  it  be  difficult  to  find  anything  to  allay 
luniger,  it  is  still  more  so  to  quench  your  thirst. 
There  is  a  liquor  sold  in  this  country  which  they 
call  wine  (most  of  the  inhabitants  indeed  call  it 
xcind).  Of  what  ingredients  it  is  composed  I  cannot 
tell ;  but  you  are  not  to  conceive,  as  the  word  seems 
to  import,  that  this  is  a  translation  of  our  French 
word  vin,  a  licjuor  made  of  the  juice  of  the  grape  ; 
for  I  am  very  well  assured  there  is  not  a  drop  of  any 

[274] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

such  juice  in  it.  There  must  be  many  ingredients 
in  this  liquor,  from  the  many  different  tastes  ;  some 
of  which  are  sweet,  others  sour,  and  others  bitter ; 
but  though  it  appeared  so  nauseous  to  me  and  my 
friend,  that  we  could  not  swallow  it,  the  English 
relish  it  very  well  ;  nay,  they  will  often  drink  a  gal- 
lon of  it  at  a  sitting;  and  sometimes  in  their  cups 
(for  it  intoxicates)  will  wantonly  give  it  the  names 
of  all  our  best  wines. 

However,  though  we  found  nothing  to  eat  or 
drink,  we  found  something  to  pay.  I  send  you  a 
copy  of  the  bill  produced  us  on  this  occasion,  as  I 
think  it  a  curiosity : 

s.    d. 
For  Bred  and  Bear 0  8 

Eating 2  0 

Wind 5  0 

Watermen's  Eating  and  Lickor      ...      1   6 

9  2 

So  that,  with  the  drawer,  we  were  at  the  expence  of 
ten  shillings  ;  though  no  Catholic  ever  kept  an  Ash- 
Wednesday  better. 

The  drawers  here  may  want  some  explanation. 
You  must  know  then,  that  in  this  country,  in  what- 
ever house  you  eat  or  drink,  whether  private  or 
public,  you  are  obliged  to  pay  the  servants  a  fee 
at  your  departure,  otherwise  they  certainly  affront 
you. 

These  fees  are  called  \a,ih  ;  and  they  serve  instead 
of  wages  :  for  though  in  private  houses  the  master 
generally  contracts   with   his    servant    to   give  him 

[275] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

wages,  yet  these  are  seldom  or  never  paid ;  and  in- 
deed the  vails  commonly  amount  to  much  more. 

From  Putnigh  we  crossed  over  to  the  other  shore, 
where  stands  the  fair  and  beautiful  town  of  Full- 
home,  vulgarly  called  Fulham.  It  is  principally 
remarkable  for  being  the  residence  of  a  bishop  ;  but 
a  large  grove  of  trees  prevented  our  seeing  his  palace 
from  the  water. 

These  two  towns  were  founded  by  two  sisters ;  and 
they  received  their  names  from  the  following  occa- 
sion. These  ladies  being  on  the  Surry  shoi'e,  called 
for  a  boat  to  convey  thtm  across  the  water.  The 
watermen  being  somewhat  lazy,  and  not  coming  near 
enough  to  the  land,  the  lady  who  had  founded  the 
town  which  stands  in  Surry,  bid  them  jmi  fiigh ; 
upon  which  her  sister  immediately  cried  out,  "  A 
good  omen  ;  let  Putnigh  be  the  name  of  the  place." 
When  they  came  to  the  other  side,  she  who  had 
founded  the  other  town,  ordered  the  watermen  to 
push  the  ho'At  full  home;  her  sister  then  returned  the 
favour,  and  gave  the  name  of  Fullhome  to  the  place. 

Here  stands  a  most  stately  and  magnificent  bridge. 
We  enquired  of  the  watermen  by  whose  benefaction 
this  was  built.  "  Benefaction,  do  you  call  it  ?  "  says 
one  of  them  with  a  sneer  ;  "  I  heartily  wish  it  had 
been  by  mine ;  there  hath  been  a  fine  parcel  of 
money  got  by  thatjoj,-"  a  name  which  the  English 
give  to  all  works  of  a  public  nature :  for  so  grateful  aie 
these  people,  that  nobody  ever  doth  anything  for  the 
public,  but  he  is  certain  to  make  his  fortune  by  it. 

We  now  returned  by  the  shore  of  Middlesex,  and 
passed  by  several  beautiful  meadows,  where  the  new- 

[276  1 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

mowed  hay  would  have  wonderfully  delighted  our 
smell,  had  it  not  been  for  a  great  variety  of  dead 
dogs,  cats,  and  other  animals,  which  being  plenti- 
fully bestrewed  along  this  shore,  a  good  deal  abated 
the  sweetness  which  must  have  otherwise  impreg- 
nated the  air. 

We  at  length  arrived  at  Shelsee,  a  corruption  of 
Shallowsee  ;  for  the  word  shallow  signifies  empty, 
worthless.  Thus  a  shallow  purse  and  a  shallow  fel- 
low are  words  of  contempt.  This,  formerly,  was 
doubtless  a  small  bishoprick,  and  inferior  to  that 
on  the  other  side  of  the  water,  which  was  called 
Bettersee. 

Here  are  many  things  worthy  the  curiosity  of 
travellers.  This  place  is  famous  for  the  residence 
of  Don  Saltero,  a  Spanish  nobleman,  who  hath  a 
vast  collection  of  all  sorts  of  rarities  ;  but  we  had  no 
time  to  see  them. 

Here  is  likewise  a  walk  called  Paradise  Row,  from 
the  delightful  situation,  and  the  magnificent  build- 
ings with  which  it  is  adorned.  We  had  certainly 
gone  on  shore  to  admire  the  beauty  of  this  walk  ; 
but  here  being  no  landing-place,  we  must  have 
spoiled  our  stockings  by  stepping  into  the  mud ; 
and  were  besides  informed  that  the  road  was  so 
abominably  dirty  that  it  would  be  difficult  to  cross, 
the  rather,  as  it  seemed  entirely  stopped  up  by  a 
ereat  number  of  dust-carts. 

A  little  farther  stands  an  hospital,  or  rather  a 
palace,  for  the  reception  of  old  and  wounded  soldiers. 
A  benefaction  of  so  noble  a  kind,  that  it  really  doth 
honour  to  the  English  nation.     Here  are  some  very 

[277] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

beautiful  apartments,  which  they  told  us  belonged  to 
the  officers;  a  word  which  led  us  into  a  mistake,  a.s 
we  afterwards  discovered  :  for  we  imagined  that  these 
apartments  were  allotted  to  those  gentlemen  who 
had  borne  commissions  in  the  army,  and  who  iiad, 
by  being  disabled  in  the  service,  entitled  themselves 
to  the  public  favour ;  but  on  farther  enquiry,  we 
were  surprized  to  find  there  was  no  provision  at  all 
for  any  such ;  and  that  these  officers  were  a  certain 
number  of  placemen,  who  had  never  borne  arms, 
nor  had  any   military   merit  whatever. 

Beyond  this  stands  Ranelagh,  of  which  we  shall 
say  no  more  than  that  it  is  a  very  large  round  room, 
and  will  contain  abundance  of  people.  This  is  in- 
deed a  sufficient  recommendation  to  the  English, 
who  never  inquire  farther  into  the  merit  of  any 
diversion,  when  they  hear  it  is  very  much  frequented. 
A  humour,  of  which  we  saw  many  instances :  all 
their  publick  places  being  either  quite  empty  of 
company,  or  so  crouded,  that  we  could  hardly  get 
to  them. 

Hence  sailing  by  a  shore  where  we  saw  little  very 
remarkable,  save  only  the  carcases  of  animals,  which 
were  here  in  much  greater  quantity  than  we  liad 
before  found  them,  we  arrived  at  a  place  called 
Mill-Bank,  or  Mile-Bank  ;  and  soon  after  we  passed, 
as  we  were  informed,  by  the  Senate-houses ;  but 
though  we  went  within  a  few  yards  of  them,  we 
could  not  discern  with  any  certainty  which  were 
they. 

Having  again  shot  (as  they  call  it)  the  New 
Bridge,  we  saw  the  palace  of  a  nobleman,  who  hath 

[278  J 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

the  honour  to  be  a  Duke  of  France  as  well  as  of 
England,  and  the  happiness  to  be  greatly  esteemed 
in  both  countries. 

Near  this  palace  stands  that  of  another  Duke,  who, 
among  other  great  and  good  qualities,  is  reputed  the 
most  benevolent  man  in  the  world. 

A  little  further  we  saw  the  palace  of  an  Earl,  of 
a  very  high  character  likewise  among  his  country- 
men ;  and  who,  in  times  of  corruption,  hath  main- 
tained the  integrity  of  an  old  Roman. 

The  palaces  of  these  three  noblemen,  who  do  a 
real  honour  to  their  high  rank,  and  who  are  greatly 
beloved  and  respected  by  their  country,  are  extremely 
elegant  in  their  buildings,  as  well  as  delightful  in 
their  situation  ;  and,  to  be  sincere,  are  the  only 
edifices  that  discover  any  true  taste  which  we  saw 
in  all   our  voyage. 

We  now  approached  to  Hunger  ford-Stairs,  the 
place  destined  for  our  landing ;  where  we  were  enter- 
tained with  a  sight  very  common,  it  seems,  in  this 
country :  this  was  the  ducking  of  a  pickpocket. 
When  we  were  first  told  this,  we  imagined  it  might 
be  the  execution  of  some  legal  sentence  :  but  we 
were  informed,  that  his  executioners  had  been  like- 
wise his  judges. 

To  give  you  some  idea  of  this  (for  it  is  impossible 
for  any  one  who  doth  not  live  in  what  they  call  a 
free  country,  to  have  an  adequate  notion  of  a  mob) 
whenever  a  pickpocket  is  taken  in  the  feet,  the 
person  who  takes  him  calls  out  "pickpocket."  Upon 
which  word,  the  mob,  who  are  always  at  hand  in  the 
street,  assemble  ;  and  having  heard  the  accusation, 

[279] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

and  sometimes  the  defence  (though  they  are  not 
always  very  strict  as  to  the  latter,  judging  a  good 
deal  by  appearances),  if  they  believe  the  accuser,  the 
prisoner  is  sentenced  to  be  ducked  ;  and  this  sentence 
is  immediately  executed  with  such  rigour,  that  he 
hardly  escapes  with  his  life. 

The  mob  take  cognizance  of  all  other  misde- 
meanours which  happen  in  the  streets,  and  they  are 
a  court,  which  generally  endeavours  to  do  justice, 
though  they  sometimes  err,  by  the  hastiness  of  their 
decisions.  Perhaps  it  is  the  only  court  in  the  world, 
where  there  is  no  partiality  arising  from  respect  of 
persons. 

They  are  great  enemies  to  the  use  of  swords,  as 
they  are  weapons  with  which  they  are  not  intrusted. 
If  a  gentleman  draws  a  sword,  though  it  be  only  in 
terrorem  to  defend  himself,  he  is  certain  to  be  very 
severely  treated  by  them  ;  but  they  give  great  en- 
couragement to  their  superiors,  who  will  condescend 
to  shew  their  coui'age  in  the  way  which  the  mob 
themselves  use,  by  boxing,  of  which  we  shall  presently 
shew  you  an  instance. 

Our  boat  was  now  with  some  difficulty  close  to  the 
landing-place  ;  for  there  was  a  great  croud  of  boats, 
every  one  of  which,  instead  of  making  way  for  us, 
served  to  endeavour  to  keep  us  out.  Upon  this 
occasion  many  hundred  curses  passed  between  our 
watei-men  and  their  fellows,  and  not  a  few  affronts 
were  cast  on  us,  especially  as  w^e  were  drest  after 
the  manner  of  our  country. 

At  last  we  arrived  safe  on  shore,  where  we  payed 
our  watermen,  who  grumbled  at  our  not  giving  them 

[  280] 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

something  to  drink  (for  all  the  labouring  people 
in  this  country  apply  their  hire  only  to  eatables,  for 
which  reason  they  expect  something  over  and  above 
to  drink). 

As  we  walked  toward  the  Strand,  a  drayman  ran 
his  whip  directly  into  my  friend's  face,  perhaps  with 
no  design  of  doing  this,  but  at  the  same  time,  with- 
out any  design  of  avoiding  it.  My  friend,  who  is 
impatient  of  an  affront,  innnediately  struck  the 
carter  with  his  fist,  who  attempted  to  return  the 
favour  with  his  whip  ;  but  Monsieur  Bellair,  who  is 
extremely  strong  and  active,  and  who  hath  learnt 
to  box  in  this  country,  presently  closed  in  with  him, 
and  tript  up  his  heels. 

The  mob  now  assembled  round  us,  and  being 
pleased  with  my  friend  for  not  having  drawn  his 
sword,  inclined  visibly  to  his  side,  and  commended 
many  blows  which  he  gave  his  adversary,  and  other 
feats  of  activity,  which  he  displayed  during  the 
combat,  that  lasted  some  minutes ;  at  the  end  of 
which,  the  drayman  yielded  up  the  victory,  crying 
with  a  sneer  —  "  D — n  you,  you  have  been  on  the 
stage,  or  I  am  mistaken.'" 

The  mob  now  gave  a  huz/a  in  my  friend's  favour, 
and  sufficiently  upbraided  his  antagonist,  who,  they 
said,  was  well  enough  ser\ed  for  affronting  a  gentle- 
man. 

Monsieur  Bellair  had  on  the  bcginnintr  of  the 
scuffle,  while  the  enemy  lay  on  the  ground,  delive]'ed 
his  sword  to  one  of  the  bystanders  ;  which  person 
had  unluckily  walked  off  in  the  croud,  without 
remtuiberiniT  to  restore  it. 

[  281  J 


"O 


FAMILIAR    LETTERS 

Upon  this  the  mob  raged  violently,  and  swore 
vengeance  against  the  thief,  if  he  could  be  discovered  ; 
but  as  this  could  not  be  done,  he  was  obliged  at 
length  to  submit  to  the  loss. 

When  we  began  to  depart,  several  of  our  friends 
demanded  of  us  something  to  drink  ;  but  as  we  were 
more  out  of  humour  with  the  loss,  than  pleased  with 
the  glory  obtained,  we  could  not  be  prevailed  upon 
to  open  our  purses. 

The  company  was  incensed  with  this.  We  were 
saluted  with  the  titles  of  Mounsli'ire,  and  otl^er  con- 
temptuous appellations  ;  several  missile  weapons,  such 
as  dirt,  &c.,  began  likewise  to  play  on  us,  and  we 
were  both  challenged  to  fight  by  several,  who  told 
my  friend,  though  he  beat  the  drayman,  he  was  not 
above  half  a  man. 

We  then  made  the  best  of  our  way,  and  soon 
escaped  into  a  Hackney-coach. 

Thus  I  have  sent  you  a  particular  account  of  this 
voyage,  from  some  parts  of  which  you  may  perhaps 
conclude,  that  the  meanest  rank  of  people  are  in  this 
country  better  provided  for  than  their  superiors  ;  and 
that  the  gentry,  at  least  those  of  the  lower  class  of 
that  order,  fare  full  as  well  in  other  places  :  for,  to 
say  the  truth,  it  appeal's  to  me,  that  an  Englishman 
in  that  station  is  liable  to  be  opprest  by  all  above 
him,  and  insulted  by  all  below  him. 

I  am,  &c. 

THE   END 


[282  1 


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